


The Pulse in My Veins

by AngelOfTheMoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angel Castiel, Angst, Demon Dean, Destiel Reverse Bang, Destiel Reverse Bang 2017, Heaven, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Profound Bond, Soulmates, Torture, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 22:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10931091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfTheMoor/pseuds/AngelOfTheMoor
Summary: Heaven and Hell are perpetually at war. In both realms, the Soulmate Ceremony is a rite of passage. During his, the angel Castiel discovers his soulmate is a demon, while the demon Dean Winchester learns that his soulmate is an angel.Seven years later, Castiel travels to Hell on a mission, and he and Dean meet their soulmates during the skirmish—each other. Soon, they realize their bond is something more than the usual soulmate connection, and they unwittingly become key players in the conflict between Heaven and Hell.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ doesn't belong to me.
> 
> This is my submission for the 2017 [Destiel Reverse Bang](http://destielrb.livejournal.com/). The art prompt, featured below, was created by dustydaydream.
> 
> Thanks to [consultingcas](http://consultingcas.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this fic at the Destiel Reverse Bang mods for curating this challenge.
> 
> The title comes from the Starset song "Monster." The song itself actually conveys a different idea than the fic, but I liked this phrase from it, and it fits.
> 
> Warnings for violence, torture, and smut. The smut appears only in the epilogue.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.

Castiel swallows and attempts to calm his nerves. He’d been looking forward to the Soulmate Ceremony since before he can remember, but now that he’s reached his eighteenth birthday, he dreads it. The idea behind the Soulmate Ceremony is simple—discover your soulmate by peering into the Soul Mirror. Once you know their identity, you can locate them, and then you get to live happily ever after with your true companion. 

He’s not sure if things were ever really that simple, but these days, it’s often more complicated than that. Some people see no one in the mirror, and many of them fall into a deep depression. Some people see more than one individual, but polyamory is frowned upon. He’s even heard of people who saw someone else rather than each other. For instance, Ezekiel saw Gadreel, but Gadreel saw Hannah, and Hannah saw no one. His three friends are still trying to work that situation out.

The viewer usually sees a fellow angel, but a few do see humans instead. That also makes things complicated. Often, the angel will snatch the human from Earth and bring him or her to heaven. It seems cruel, but living without your soulmate can be devastating.

Even if the Soulmate Ceremony occasionally gives rise to questionable practices, it has been around since before anyone can remember. It’s sacred, and those who’ve had the gall to question the ceremony’s existence have been summarily imprisoned by Michael, their sovereign, who knows best.

Castiel wonders who his soulmate will be. He hopes it’s not someone he knows. Rachel obviously wants him to be her soulmate, but he doesn’t think they’re compatible. He enjoys her friendship, but he can’t imagine being romantically involved with her. Of course, you don’t have to pair up with your soulmate, but in that case, many people shun you.

“Castiel,” Akobel calls. Castiel jumps up from the wooden chair beside the Soul Mirror Chamber and approaches Akobel, who has assumed his spot next to the wooden podium. As Heaven’s Master of Soul Records. Akobel will record Castiel’s vision on the scroll lying on the podium.

“It is time,” Akobel announces. Castiel must look apprehensive, for Akobel claps him on the shoulder and smiles kindly at him. “Everything will be fine, son.”

Castiel takes a deep breath. “I hope so,” he replies in a rush. His wings tighten with tension.

Akobel pats him on the shoulder again before withdrawing his hand.  “It will.”

Akobel unlocks the silver door, and Castiel steps inside. The walls are painted a pastel pink, a color which, for some reason Castiel cannot understand, symbolizes love. An oval mirror with a white border stares back at him.

Castiel closes his eyes and recites the incantation. After he utters the last word, he braces himself and looks up.

Freckles dot the face of the figure on the other side, and he has dirty blonde hair.

But those are not the man’s most noticeable features. Oh, no. The eyes hypnotize him.

Because they are _wrong_.

They are solid black. Which means he must be a _demon_. Which means he’s a denizen of Hell.

In all the annals of history, no one has ever seen a demon.

What will everyone else think? What kind of freak sees a demon?

Will he be punished?

After the image vanishes, Castiel waits a few moments before exiting the chamber. Outside, Akobel’s eyes, framed by wire-rimmed spectacles, gaze steadily at him. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” Castiel claims. Has anyone lied about the ceremony before? It feels like a bad idea, but telling the truth seems worse.

Akobel’s eyes rake over Castiel. He must mistake his rattled appearance for disappointment. “I’m sorry, my son.”

Castiel shrugs and picks at a thread on the sleeve of his tan trench coat. “It happens.”

On the bright side, now that he’s eighteen, Castiel has been assigned his own room. He doesn’t have to go back to the dormitories and deal with the company of others all night. He can panic in private.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean doesn’t understand why he’s so jittery. It’s the Soulmate Ceremony, so what. He’ll find out who he’s best suited to spend the rest of his life with; then he can do whatever he wants with that information. Many people do seek out their soulmates, especially if they turn out to be human. Another citizen of Hell strengthens their numbers, and they need everyone they can to keep up the war against Heaven. If your soulmate’s a demon, well, that’s cool, too. Partnerships based on mutual trust can make you more formidable. And if not everyone sees the person who’d seen them, or if you see more than one individual—well, the more, the merrier.

But many people live without their soulmates, too. It’s just not a priority. There’s plenty more exciting things to do. Like torturing sinners sent here after they die and training for Lucifer’s army.

That’s all Dean cares about, really. Becoming a soldier. This soulmate thing, it’s just a dumb coming of age ritual, a tradition Hell has followed since anyone can remember.

Dad’s experience with Mom doesn’t make the idea of a soulmate sound appealing, either. John Winchester is a demon, born and bred. Mary Campbell had been human. As soon as Mary appeared in the mirror, John began searching Earth for her. When he found her, he didn’t do what demons usually did—simply whisk her away to Hell. He courted her, and they fell in love. When Dad finally told her the truth, he explained that Hell wasn’t as bad as it sounded. True, humans endure horrific punishments, but only the truly evil, individuals like Vlad the Impaler, experienced the worst of it. Demons couldn’t help their nature, their desire to make people suffer, and in Hell, that instinct had been siphoned into something productive—doling out justice. Other than that, and the perpetual war with Heaven, day-to-day life wasn’t much different there than it was on Earth.

So Mary had followed John to Hell. She’d averted her gaze from the punishments, taking comfort in the fact that the sufferers deserved it. But as sometimes happens when humans join their soulmates in Hell, she eventually became so horrified that she wasted away. Unlike other humans, however, it wasn’t the gruesomeness in general that had gotten to her. It was knowing that both her sons would grow up to participate in the torture, to revel in it. She didn’t want them to be like their dad, but they’d clearly inherited demon characteristics, such as their eyes sometimes turning black. Since he’s a pure demon, Dad’s eyes never vary, but the sons’ human side had given them shifting eye colors.

So, yeah. If he sees a human, he’s leaving them the fuck alone.

And if he sees a demon . . . well, he couldn’t care less, really, but he wouldn’t be averse to a relationship, depending on the individual.

“Dean Winchester,” Crowley calls in his oily British accent. King of the Crossroads, which puts him in charge of the conduit between Hell and Earth. If you need access to Earth, he’s your guy. His job includes maintaining soulmate records.

Dean strolls across the atrium toward Crowley, who guards the entrance to the Soulmate Chamber.

“It’s time,” Crowley announces. He opens the door behind him, and Dean enters. The walls are completely white, which, _weird_. Hardly anything’s white in Hell.

The mirror stares back at him, an oval surrounded by a ring of flames.

Time to get this over with.

Dean closes his eyes and recites the incantation. When he opens them, he can’t believe what he sees.

Dark brown hair, blue eyes that would capture Dean’s attention if it weren’t for that other thing.

On his back, the large pair of fully extended black wings.

“Holy shit!” Dean gasps.

His soulmate is an _angel_.

He’s never heard of that happening before.

When Dean steps out of the chamber, Crowley raises his eyes from the scroll on the desk before him. “Well?”

Dean takes a minute before he answers. The antechamber’s marbled walls, solid black, comfort him. All that white had been blinding. “I saw an angel, sir.”

The quill slips from Crowley’s fingers, and Crowley gapes at him. “Are you sure?”

“Dude had huge-ass wings.”

“Ah. I see.” Crowley picks up the quill and taps it against his chin. “This could be good.”

“How?”

“If he’s your soulmate, maybe we can draw him to our side. He could be our secret weapon against Heaven.”

Oh. Dean sighs in relief. He’d been nervous—just a little—that it might cause others to question his loyalty to Hell. Or doubt that he’s even a demon.

“If only we had access to Heaven,” Crowley mutters to himself. “Perhaps someday.”

Dean’s not so sure. No one’s been able to find the key to unlocking Heaven. But hey, maybe this angel would someday be sent down with the soldiers of Heaven, and he’d be their gateway.

“Describe him to me,” Crowley instructs.


	2. Chapter One

“Good luck,” Hannah tells Castiel before kissing him on the cheek.

“Thanks. I will need it,” Castiel replies. At twenty-five, he’s one of the youngest angels ever to lead a force into Hell. Not that it’s much of a force—just four individuals besides himself. Still, it’s a great honor.

Hannah eyes Ezekiel, who is also coming on the raid. He, Gadreel, and Hannah have been married for three years. Castiel doesn’t know much about the arrangement; then again, it’s none of his business.

“You better take good care of him,” Hannah warns.

Castiel offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I’ll do my best.”

Hannah trots off to tender her good-byes to Ezekiel, and Castiel contemplates his mission for the millionth time. It should be easy. All they’re supposed to do is sneak into a storage shed, grab a grimoire, and return. No engagement with the enemy necessary.

Apparently, the grimoire holds a spell that, when incorporated into a series of steps, will allow demons access to Heaven. If that happens, they might lose the war with Hell. So far, the demons’ inability to travel to Heaven has been the angels’ biggest advantage, and they cannot lose it. According to Sovereign Michael, the demons do not yet understand the significance of what they possess, so avoiding demons should not be difficult. Michael claims the information comes from an impeccable source, but as to who that source is, Castiel has no clue. At any rate, the source has never been wrong.

Ten minutes later, Castiel and his group line up at the glass archway. Only a few people know how to operate the entrance to Hell. The man standing there now, Inias, leads the Gatekeeper Guild. Castiel rubs his thumb across the talisman, a simple blue orb. When they’re ready to return, he will firmly press on it while reciting an incantation, prompting the bell above the gate to ring. Then someone will let them back in.

“Are you ready?” Inias asks.

Castiel glances at his people, two men and two women. They all wear expressions of fierce determination, so he nods.

“Very well.” Inias completes the spell (part of it mentally, to safeguard the secret, lest people wander to Hell without permission, though as to why anyone would wish to do such a thing, Castiel doesn’t know). A bright white light flickers in the archway, and Castiel steps through first. He listens as the others follow him before beginning the trek through the tunnel toward Hell itself.

He thinks about Rachel, who he’d seen watching as Hannah told him goodbye. She’d looked conflicted, almost as if she couldn’t decide whether to approach Castiel or not. They haven’t spoken for over a year. After Rachel had seen Castiel during her own Soulmate Ceremony, she’d begun pestering him to marry her. It wouldn’t cause any trouble, she’d argued. He might even grow to love her back. He didn’t have a soulmate, so what was the harm? When Castiel replied that he didn’t want a life with someone who wasn’t his soulmate, she’d pointed out how happy Hannah is.

But he doesn’t want a life with Rachel. Besides, it’s probably better for her if they don’t wed. If his soulmate is a demon, who knows what’s wrong with him?

He didn’t tell her any of that, though. He just said he couldn’t live a lie.

The last time Castiel had rejected her, he’d given her an ultimatum: they could be friends, but if she planned on asking him to marry her again, he didn’t want to speak to her anymore.

He did miss her friendship. Still does. He wonders if she’s finally coming around to his point of view.

They reach the end of the tunnel, and Castiel consults the map stowed inside his trench coat. His hands shake so much he can barely read it. He spreads his wings out, blocking the other angels’ view so they can’t see how nervous he is. If they lose confidence in him, things could go awry.

“This way,” Castiel declares, pointing to a path on their right. It meanders into a dense forest, so it should keep them hidden from demons.

The screams of tortured souls assault their ears. Through the foliage, they catch glimpses of the demons at work. One man is peeling a man’s skin with a small knife while a woman gleefully stabs him in each eye, over and over.

Beside him, Hester shudders. “Can you believe the depths of their depravity?”

“Perhaps they deserve it,” Castiel responds.

“ _What_?” Hester sputters.

Castiel doesn’t know why he said that. “The demons punish those who committed evil deeds on Earth.” He shrugs. “At least that’s what the demons say, isn’t it?”

Hester scoffs. “You can’t believe anything those monsters say. They lie all the time.”

“If it’s not true,” Castiel ponders aloud, “then where do the evil humans go when they die? Righteous souls come to Heaven.”

“They cease to exist. _That_ ’s their punishment.”

“Then who are these demons torturing?”

“Who knows why these sick people do anything? They probably stole the humans from Earth . . . Why are you even asking these questions? Now’s not the time.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admits.

Hester glares at him. “Stay focused on the mission.”

“Okay.”

They reach a crossroads, and Castiel indicates the trail to their left.

For the next two hours, their progress runs smoothly, but when they’re almost to the storage buildings, a horde of demons jumps out.

“Shit,” Ezekiel screams.

Castiel parries the first thrust aimed at him. Three demons oppose him, and he kills each one quickly. He hasn’t become known as one of Heaven’s best soldiers for no reason.

He can’t think about the others right now, only fend off the demons coming at him, slaying them before they get to him first. They keep coming, and his strength wanes. But finally, most of them lie dead on the ground. He’s about to search for his crew when a bright light pulses toward him.

The closer it comes, the more it hurts his eyes, burns into his brain. The screech in his ears deafens him. He falls to his knees and clutches his head with both hands. Almost right in front of him, there’s a demon—

One he recognizes.

The one in the Soul Mirror.

“You,” the demon murmurs.

Everything goes black.

xxxxxxxxxx

All the angels are dead except for one. The guy’s some sort of master, expertly pirouetting among the demons surrounding him, slaughtering them all. Despite himself, Dean sort of admires the dude. He’s never seen anyone with skills like that.

It’s up to him and Sammy to take the last angel down. He doesn’t spare a glance for the dead angel at his feet as he dashes toward the live one a few hundred yards away. Sam’s running toward him, too, coming from the other side.

Dean expects the angel to speed toward him, but instead he collapses.

What—?

When Dean gets closer, he recognizes the angel on his knees. His black wings are tightly drawn against his back, the feathers in disarray. What arrests him are the eyes—the startling intensity of the blue. And they’re glowing.

“You,” Dean exhales. The angel faints.

Behind the angel, Sam raises his sword, poised to stab him in the back.

“Sam, stop!” Dean yells.

Sam freezes and looks at Dean suspiciously. “What?”

“It’s him, Sammy,” Dean explains softly.

Sam appears puzzled. “Him? Who?” His expression changes when realization hits him. “The one from the Soul Mirror?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s the only one who knows the truth about his soulmate—him and Crowley. Crowley had thought other demons might try to take advantage of him if they knew. (Considering how much some of them love to scheme, that’s not a stretch.) When anyone asks, he just shrugs and says it was a pitiful-looking human he has no interest in. That shuts them up. But Sam—Sam, he couldn’t keep such a big secret from.

Dean grabs the angel’s shoulders and heaves. “Help me, Sammy.”

“What’re you doing?”

“We’ve gotta get him out of here.”

“And take him where?”

“Home.”

“Dad will kill you, Dean.—”

“Maybe we can interrogate him, learn something.”

“You know how much Dad hates angels. He’ll just go for the kill.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. A little over four years ago, not long after Sammy discovered his soulmate, Dad stumbled upon some information about Mom’s death. She’d been murdered by an angel, or so he concluded. It makes sense. After all, Mom’s body was never recovered, so who knows what really happened? Still, the theory feels off somehow.

“But he’s my soulmate,” Dean continues. “That’s gotta mean something, right?” He knows Sam will agree. In the Soul Mirror, he’d seen a cute blonde human named Jessica Moore. He’d automatically felt protective of her and declined to pursue her, claiming life on Earth would better suit her. Dean agreed. Humans don’t belong in Hell—not nice ones, at least.

Besides, if an angel’s his soulmate.—He’s got questions, and maybe the dude’s got answers.

Sam sighs. “Fine. But we still can’t take him home.”

“We’ll put him in the basement.” Sam raises an eyebrow. “You know Dad never goes down there.”

“Okay, whatever.”

Dean takes the angel’s shoulders, and Sam grabs his ankles. They carry him to the house. Luckily, they aren’t spotted; who knows what trouble they’d be in if someone had seen them.


	3. Chapter Two

When Castiel returns to consciousness, he’s chained to a wall. The irons encircling his wrists and ankles are dotted with ancient runes that prevent him from escaping; they faintly burn into his skin.  

The demon is lounging on a chair a few feet away. He still emits a light, but it’s been muted to a manageable level. When he notices Castiel is awake, he perks up.

“Where am I?” Castiel ventures.

“Hell, dumbass,” the demon replies.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I know _that_. But what is this place?”

“What’s your name?”

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me your name, fuckface.”

“Tell me _your_ name.”

“Hey, I’m the one who gets to ask the questions.”

Another demon descends the staircase. “Dean—”

“Shit, you ruined it,” Dean snaps.

“Ruined what?” The other demon reaches the bottom of the stairs. He’s one of the tallest people Castiel has ever seen. “Oh. He’s awake.”

“Yeah.”

“As long as we’re exchanging names. I’m Sam.” Dean side eyes Sam, but Sam ignores him.

Now that he knows these men’s names, Castiel supposes there’s no harm in sharing. “Castiel.”

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Dean responds. His eyes flick to green then back to black. So, his eyes aren’t black all of the time. Which means one of his parents is human. By the next generation, the eyes are always black.

“Where’s the rest of my garrison detachment?” Castiel asks.

“Dead,” Dean answers dispassionately. Castiel holds back a sob. His first mission, and it’s ended in disaster. His group is dead, and they failed to retrieve the grimoire.

“What are you planning to do to me?”

“Just ask a few questions. Answer me this. Why do your eyes glow?”

“What?” Castiel sputters. As far as he knows, they don’t.

“Dean, what are you talking about?” Sam demands.

Dean stands up and approaches Castiel until he’s uncomfortably close. He blinks, and his eyes are green. “You don’t see that?”

“See what?”

“The blue light coming from his eyes.”

Sam looks at Dean as if he’s lost his mind.

“No.”

“Huh.” Dean takes two steps back, and his eyes revert to black. “Maybe it’s ’cause you’re my soulmate.”

“What?” Castiel gasps. He didn’t think demons had soulmates. He’d learned that they just took up with whoever they felt attraction to.

“Yeah.” Dean runs a hand through his hair, his expression suddenly apprehensive. “We have this stupid thing when we turn eighteen. We look in a mirror and see our soulmate.” When Dean’s eyes alight on his face, they’re green again. “Kinda dumb, I know.”

Incredulous, Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean. “You do that in Hell?”

“Yeah. Like I said, it’s stupid.”

“We . . . Dean, we have that ceremony, too. In Heaven.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I assure you that I am not ‘shitting you.’”

Dean expression grows pensive. “Imagine that.” He turns to Sam. “Hey, Sammy, watch over him, will ya? Make sure Dad doesn’t find him. I gotta give the report to Lucifer. He’s probably wondering why I haven’t come yet.”

“Okay, Dean,” Sam says.

Dean ascends the stairs, and Sam sits in the wooden chair, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles.

“You two are brothers?” Castiel inquires.

Sam’s eyes flash hazel for a second; then they’re black once more. “Yeah.”

Castiel hadn’t told Dean he’d seen him in the mirror as well. Should he have? He’ll wait until Dean reveals his purpose, he decides. Disclosing too much to Dean could be dangerous. Not only is he a demon, but if he has direct contact with Lucifer, he must be powerful in this realm.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean jogs toward the palace. He’s already late; he hopes he doesn’t get punished. Still, even in his haste, questions assail him.

They have the Soulmate Ceremony in Heaven, too? Make sense, he guesses. Lucifer lived in Heaven until he rebelled and formed his own domain. Dean wonders if he should’ve asked Castiel who he’d seen. Would Castiel have told him? Shit, he probably shouldn’t have laid his cards on the table so quickly. But the glowing eyes had got to him. It has to be connected to the soulmate thing. Why else wouldn’t Sam be able to see them?

Finally, he reaches the palace, black basalt interspersed with solid streaks of lava. Inside, he turns left and enters the throne room. There, Master Lucifer sits on his throne of solid fire, flanked on each end by one of his top advisors, Lilith and Azazel.

Dean bows, his forehead kissing the stone floor. “Master.”

“Dean Winchester,” Lucifer rumbles. It’s a solid minute before he allows Dean to move. “Arise.”

Dean stands up and keeps his eyes focused just below the Master’s face. “I am here to deliver my report.”

“Finally. Why was there such a delay?”

“I—uh, I needed time to heal, Master. I sustained a wound to my stomach.” Dean feels his eyes on the cusp of changing, and by sheer force of will, he makes them stay black. Lucifer might still detect the lie, but he’s less likely to do so if Dean’s eyes are black.

Lucifer mulls over the answer for a moment. It’s a plausible excuse. Demons heal much faster than humans, but they don’t heal instantly.

“I’m sorry, my son,” Lucifer replies. “What casualties did we sustain?”

“We lost everyone but Sam, Master.”

“How unfortunate.” If he feels any regret for the losses, Lucifer’s tone doesn’t betray it. “And all the angels have been dealt with?”

“All dead, Master.”

Lucifer taps his chin with one finger as he processes Dean’s words. “Impressive. But answer me something. Why were there only four dead angels on the battlefield?”

“What?” Dean gasps.

Lucifer glares at him. “We were informed by Uriel that Heaven was sending five angels. The scavengers discovered four bodies, so where was the fifth?”

Dean shrugs and tries to smile nonchalantly. “Maybe he got eaten?” There are a few demons who devour dead bodies when they stumble upon them. Sounds unsanitary if you ask Dean, but whatever, if it floats their boat.

“Perhaps.” Lucifer ponders the matter, and Dean hopes the master can’t tell how much he’s shaking on the inside. “The missing body belongs to one Castiel. Considering his reputation, I thought he might have slipped away.”

“Master?”

“Castiel is known as one of the most skilled soldiers in Heaven. Which is why Michael sent him on this mission. A small one, one they thought he could get done.” Lucifer smirks to himself. “Or so Uriel advised Michael.” Dean knows Uriel is an angel Lucifer has recruited to their side, but he hadn’t realized he was powerful enough to have Michael’s ear. “Who killed him?”

“I did, Master.”

A newfound respect gleams in Lucifer’s eyes. “Impressive.”

“The fight weakened him.”

“Do not sell yourself short, Dean.” He inclines his head. “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Master.” Having already turned to his advisors, Lucifer pays the words no heed.

If Lucifer ever detects the deception, Dean will be up shit creek. He can only hope Lucifer, even with his renowned perceptiveness, doesn’t discover the lie. There are so many variables, though. Like, how long will Sam be willing to play along? What if Dad comes down to the basement? Maybe he should just kill Castiel and be done with it.

No. If the mirror says Castiel is his soulmate, he wants to know why. And maybe . . . maybe if he can coerce Castiel into giving away some of Heaven’s secrets, Lucifer will have mercy on him if he learns the truth.

Not likely. He’s never heard of Lucifer showing anyone mercy, but there’s a first time for everything.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel hears a door open and shut upstairs. Sam dashes up to the first floor and doesn’t return. He supposes the entrant must be the men’s father. Just like the demons, he’s not eager to attract their father’s attention. Who knows what the man would do if he discovered Castiel? At least Dean has a vested interest in keeping him alive. If their father found him, he might be killed, or much worse—dragged to Lucifer. He shudders at the thought. He’s heard horror stories about what Lucifer does to his prisoners; his imagination is even more demented than that of his demons. The only person who’s ever returned to Heaven after being imprisoned by Lucifer had been a Rit Zien. He’d taken to “saving” soldiers who’d served missions in Hell by putting them out of their misery, so he’d been executed. Thinking about it still breaks Castiel’s heart.

For the next few hours, muted voices rumble upstairs. After the house has been silent for a while, he concludes that the occupants must have gone to sleep. He wonders how they tell time here in Hell. The sky remains perpetually gray, only broken up by occasional swathes of red-orange.

Now’s his best chance of escape. He retrieves the talisman from underneath his trench coat and presses it while speaking the requisite words.

Nothing happens.

He must’ve flubbed the words somehow. He tries again.

Still nothing.

That can’t be right. He knows the incantation is correct.

Another attempt won’t hurt.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps. A man with a lantern strides down the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, and the light illuminates his face. It’s Dean, whose freckles stand out amidst the flickering shadows. There’s something strange about his green eyes—they seem almost—vulnerable? Castiel still senses that intangible light, and right now, it’s flickering.

“What language was that? Enochian?” Dean asks. Castiel doesn’t reply, and Dean inches closer, an uncomfortable silence reigning as he takes his time. His eyes dart to the talisman. “What is that?” Castiel remains quiet.

“What’re you?” Dean spits. “Mute?” He snatches the pebble. “What were you trying to do? . . . Were you calling out to Heaven or something?”

“Something like that,” Castiel winces. Why had he answered?

Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’s getting the talisman back, anyway.

“Hmm.” Dean idly twirls it between his fingers. “This was your ticket home, wasn’t it?” Dean’s just guessing. He’s not going to confirm the demon’s suspicions. “I always wondered how y’all got back to Heaven from here.” He frowns down at the stone. “Guess it’s useless.”

With a sinking feeling, Castiel realizes that Dean is right, that he’d already suspected what Dean had vocalized, but he’d refused to admit it to himself. “Why would they give me a talisman that doesn’t work?”

Dean pockets the pebble and smirks. “’Cause you were set up.” No, he wasn’t. Dean’s just trying to rattle him. There’s no way.—“You weren’t supposed to come back.”

“I don’t believe you,” Castiel grits out.

Dean shrugs. “Believe what you want.” Placing the lantern on a side table, he settles into the chair, and Castiel gawks at him. “What? Can’t leave you unattended for too long. Who knows what you’d get up to?” Dean sneers, and his eyes morph to black.

xxxxxxxxxx

When he hears movement upstairs, Dean jerks awake. Shit. He must’ve fallen asleep. Castiel seems—not asleep, exactly, but a little powered down. Huddled against the wall, in a daze. When Dean stands up, he stirs. He opens his eyes, the light gradually brightening in them. How long is Dean gonna have to put up with this crap?

He ambles upstairs. Thank goodness it’s only Sam up here; Dad must’ve already headed to court. He tends to leave for his job as soon as he wakes up.

“Mornin’,” Dean grumbles.

“You shouldn’t have stayed down there with him,” Sam warns as he bites into an apple. “What if Dad had gone looking for you?”

It’s a good point, but Dean scoffs. “Knew he wouldn’t.”

“You can’t bet on him always sticking to his routine.” Dean sets a pot of coffee over the fire and waits.

“Dean, what’re you gonna do with him?” Fuck, Sam just won’t let it go, will he?

“I don’t know,” Dean snips.

“If Lucifer finds out—”

“Yeah, yeah, it’d suck.” Dean shivers at the thought of being thrown into Lucifer’s prison. He’s never been down in the dungeons, but he’s heard it’s worse than anyone can imagine. And Dean can imagine a whole lot. Sucking out your organs. Being drawn and quartered. Being ripped apart and stitched back together all wrong.—

“I’m serious, Dean. We can’t keep him forever.—”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Sam eyes him warily. “You better.”

He leaves for the university, and Dean downs his coffee. After a breakfast of bread and cheese, he returns to the basement, where Castiel looks more alert.

Okay, so Dean doesn’t really know what he’s doing here. He should probably ask some questions. Yeah. So—

“Where are your kin?” Castiel inquires.

“Work,” Dean answers automatically. _Great job being an interrogator, genius_.

“You have jobs down here?”

“Duh. Dad’s a judge, and—”

“You have courts?”

“Well, yeah. Gotta have laws, man.” Shit. This is _not_ how things should be going. Dean steels his expression and taunts, “Dad’s retired military. John Winchester. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

Castiel’s face pales, and Dean smiles smugly. Before taking a job with the courts, Dad had been one of Hell’s most formidable generals. He’d been responsible for some of Hell’s biggest routs.

“It’s the family business.”

Castiel schools his expression into neutrality. “I am a soldier as well.” Somehow, he makes it sound like a threat.

_Yeah, a pretty badass one, too. Shut up, brain._

“What are you planning to do with me?” Castiel growls.

Dean ignores the posturing. After all, he’s the one with all the cards here. “Like I said yesterday. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“Go ahead.”

“You said you guys did the soulmate thing in Heaven, too. With the mirror?”

“And?”

“Tell me what you saw in the mirror.”

“None of your business.”

“C’mon, I’m not gonna ask nicely again.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Fuck you, smartass.” Castiel pastes on a shit-eating grin, which Dean ignores. “Why do your eyes glow?”

“They don’t.”

“They do.”

Castiel smirks. “No doubt you are hallucinating. You might want to get that checked out.” Dean kicks him in the shin, and he laughs.

“Okay, if you won’t answer those questions. Maybe you can tell me what’s so special about that grimoire you motherfuckers came for.”

“Don’t you wish you knew.”

“Why’d you send such a small force?”

“If our force was so inadequate, why’d we decimate you?”

“Oh, you ‘decimated us,’ did you? We slaughtered you angels. And you’re only alive because I wanted you to be.”

“I could’ve easily taken you down.”

“Yeah, ’cause you kicked my ass back there.”

“If you hadn’t distracted me, I would’ve.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” It’s not like Dean had been doing anything special. The angel had just fainted for no damn reason. “How did I ‘distract you’?” Castiel’s expression grows guarded. He’s definitely hiding something. “Tell me.” Castiel grins wider, and Dean’s tired of this self-satisfied shithead. He rakes his eyes over the angel’s wings. Glossy black, kind of iridescent— _breathtaking_ is the word that comes to mind.

He wants to desecrate them.

His hands itch with the need to act. To scar another being just as much as he’s scarred on the inside. He snatches the angel-blade from a corner of the room and holds it up. “How did I distract you? Huh?” Castiel laughs again. Dean’s had enough.

He slashes down the expanse of one wing, and Castiel screams. Grace leaks out in the form of blue light, as does a trickle of blood. And—

“Son of a bitch!” Dean shouts as he drops the angel-blade. The right side of his back is _pounding_. He stretches a hand back there and swipes over a segment of the space. It returns bloody.

Fuck.

Is it because he’d hurt the angel?—

He retrieves the sword from the floor and experiments with a small cut near the bottom of a wing. Castiel hisses, and Dean feels his back throb again.

Some demons may get off on feeling pain, but Dean’s not one of them.

Castiel’s eyes widen as they flicker between Dean and the wing. “Now that is interesting,” he muses aloud.

Dean snorts. “Interesting’s one word for it.”

Dean can’t deal with this right now. In any event, he’s due at the palace soon. He turns to leave. When he has one foot on the first stair, Castiel speaks.

“I saw you, Dean.”

Dean spins around. “What?”

“In the Soul Mirror. I saw you.”

“Oh.”

That’s not a surprise, but Castiel’s admission is. Is the angel opening up to him? He hopes so, because it’s not like he can torture him for answers.

xxxxxxxxxx

As his wing heals, Castiel reflects on everything that’s occurred so far. Apparently when Castiel receives a blow, Dean feels it as well. Why? It frightens him. He’s never heard of such a resonance between soulmates. And the glowing eyes—it must be equivalent to the light Castiel feels emanate from Dean. He’s never heard of that happening, either.

With a dreadful certainty, Castiel knows had been right. He and his cohort had been set up. But why? Who’s the traitor in Heaven?

He needs to understand what’s going on, starting with whatever exists between himself and Dean. In order to do that, he and Dean will have to work together.

He hears footsteps upstairs. Dean? No, the tread is too heavy. Sam.

Sam comes downstairs, clutching a thick brown leather-bound book. He stops a few feet away from Castiel and holds up the tome. “Do you know what this is?” Castiel eyes it and shakes his head. “Well. That’s strange, seeing as you angels came down here for it.”

“That’s the grimoire?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I’m not.”

“C’mon, I’m not an idiot. How were you supposed to retrieve it if you didn’t even know what it looked like?”

Good question. Castiel had assumed one of the other angels might recognize it. Or it would stand out somehow.

“Now, I know there’s something in here Heaven doesn’t want us to know about. We’ve been trying to translate it, and—” He opens the book to a random page and shoves it in front of Castiel’s nose. “What language is that?”

“It’s an old form of an obscure Enochian dialect,” Castiel ascertains.

“You can read it?” Sam responds. Castiel narrows his eyes at him. “Tell me what it says.”

“Why would I do that?” Castiel scoffs.

Sam picks up the angel-blade lying in a corner. “I can make you.”

He sees it in Sam’s eyes. He doesn’t relish the idea of torturing someone; it’s just his training. Someone won’t answer you, you resort to torture.

Unlike Dean, who’d seemed almost giddy at the prospect of hurting someone else.

No surprise. That’s what demons do.

Still. Dean hadn’t seemed like he’d wanted to torture for the sheer joy of it. There’s some other reason, one Castiel can’t pinpoint.

Sam stabs at a wing, and Castiel holds in a howl. He’s not going to let the torture rattle him this time.

xxxxxxxxxx

Luckily, Dean’s healed by the time he joins the rest of Lucifer’s extended council in the war room, which is taken up by a large rectangular black marble table. After Dad had retired, he’d assumed Dad’s seat.

Now, the discussion moves on to how Heaven will respond to its loss yesterday.

“Michael’s sending an angel. Only one, known for reconnaissance. Muriel. She’s just supposed to scout things out,” Uriel informs them.

“Should we eliminate her?” Azazel asks.

“Of course we should; she’s a filthy angel!” Lilith seethes.

Lucifer holds up a hand, and everyone falls silent. “We will leave her be unless she attempts to visit the warehouse. Heaven needs to know we obliterated their paltry force.”

“Quite right,” Uriel agrees.

Suddenly, Dean feels a sharp pain in his shoulder blades, and he hisses. Shit.

All eyes turn to him. “Winchester, are you all right?” Lucifer rumbles.

Dean suppresses a shiver at having the master’s intense gaze directed entirely at him. “I, uh. I’m not feeling well. Sorry.”

Lucifer raises his eyebrows when Dean stands up without permission. Damn. Bad idea. Lucifer studies him for a minute before nodding. “You may go.”

Someone must be torturing Castiel. Did Dad find him? As soon as he reaches the house, he races downstairs. Sammy’s holding up the angel-blade.

“Sam, what the fuck are you doing?” Dean yells.

Sam turns around. “Trying to get some answers about this thing.” He points at the grimoire lying on a side table.

“You can’t do that.”

“What?”

“Put the blade back.”

“Why?”

“Because when you use the sword on him, I feel it, too!”

Sam gawks at him. He snatches the angel-blade from Sam’s hand. “I wonder if it works both ways.” Dean slices down the middle of his forearm, and he hears a sharp intake of breath. He glances at Castiel’s arm, where blood has bubbled up.

Dean drops the sword. “Guess so.” He frowns. “But those chains, they burn your wrists, don’t they?” he asks Castiel, who simply nods. “Then why don’t mine?”

“Look at your wrists, Dean,” Castiel directs. Dean’s eyes travel downward, and he observes two red rings encircling both wrists. “It just works more slowly.”

“Huh. Why?”

“I have a theory.”

Castiel’s quiet for several minutes. When he can’t take the quiet anymore, Dean prompts, “Care to share with the rest of the class, Cas?”

“What did you just call me?”

Huh. He’d shortened the angel’s name. “Castiel’s a damn mouthful,” he retorts.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “The more intense the pain, the more quickly we feel it.”

“Guess that makes sense. Hmm.” Dean thinks for a moment. “So the chains are out. I’ll get a cage instead.”

“Where’re you gonna get a cage, Dean?” Sam grouses.

“The palace.” Sam eyes him skeptically. “I’ve got some contacts.” He’ll just bribe someone who works in Lucifer’s storage area.

He notices that Castiel’s feathers are ruffled. That’s a shame. He runs a hand through a wing to straighten out the feathers. Castiel recoils as if spooked.

“What’d you do that for?” Sam questions.

 _Dunno_. “Can’t a guy just be nice?”

xxxxxxxxxxx

It’s the dead of night, and the house is still. He’s still stunned that Dean had fluffed up his wings. Running a blade through them, he understands. The wings are the most sensitive part of an angel’s body, so they’re easy targets for torture. But toying with the wings as he had—that’s a deeply personal act. Did Dean not know the significance of the gesture?  And why hadn’t Castiel minded?

There’s a loud commotion from the stairway, where Dean’s dragging down a large cage. It’s made of the same material as the chains, and it bears the same sigils.

“Your father might hear you,” Castiel frets.

“Nah, we’ll be fine.” Dean places the cage against the wall and reaches for the handcuffs. “I’m gonna transfer you, all right? Don’t go gettin’ any ideas.”

“It’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” Castiel points out. An angel alone in Hell with no way home—he’d be doomed. His eyes water. What if he never sees Heaven again?

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” Dean reassures him. “It’s probably better than the chains, anyway.” Dean unlocks the handcuffs, his fingertips brushing over the insides of Castiel’s wrists as he does so. After he undoes the ankle chains, he opens the cage, and Castiel steps inside.

“Hang on,” Dean says after he locks the cage. He goes back upstairs and returns a minute later with a few thick slices of bread. He holds one out to Castiel. “Sorry, just realized I haven’t fed you yet. It’s been a while.” Castiel just stares, and Dean frowns. “What, don’t angels eat?”

“Not really,” Castiel replies. Dean looks puzzled. “We can, but we don’t require sustenance. The only substance we ingest in Heaven is manna.”

“Manna? What’s that?”

“It’s sweet. We consume it during sacred ceremonies to help us meditate on the magnificence of Heaven and the universe. It puts us in a, how do I phrase this, something of an ecstatic reverie.—”

Dean gapes at him. “Are you telling me you angels get _high_?”

Castiel bristles. “It helps us reach a state of enlightenment.”

“You’re getting high.”

“I assure you that it is nothing so trivial.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He waves the slice of bread. “Want it?”

“I might as well try it.” Castiel accepts the slice. He takes a bite and spits it out.

“Hey!”

“It tastes like molecules.”

Dean snatches the bread and finishes it off before tackling the other slices he’d brought.  Afterward, he settles into the chair. “If I fall asleep, wake me when you hear movement upstairs, all right?”

“I don’t see how that’s my job,” Castiel balks.

“Hey, if Dad finds you, it’s your head on a spike, too.”

Fair point. Suddenly, Castiel realizes something. Dean’s never mentioned a mother. “Where is your mother?” he asks. Dean steels his expression, and Castiel recognizes the answer. “I’m sorry, Dean.” Based on his demeanor, Dean must’ve been very fond of her.

“Yeah, yeah, it happened a long time ago,” Dean dismisses.

After a few moments, Castiel shares, “We don’t have families in Heaven.”

“What?”

“People have partners, of course, and give birth to children. But as soon as a child is born, they’re taken to the nursery. When they turn four, they’re moved into a dormitory that houses children of their age. They stay there until they turn eighteen.”

“Shit. That sucks. I thought Heaven was supposed to be perfect.”

“It is.” It often doesn’t feel perfect, though. It’s not that love doesn’t exist, but everything’s so impersonal. The idea of a family has always appealed to him, the intensity of the warmth and loyalty he’s seen humans experience within their families.

A little while later, Dean asks, “Do they have a sky in Heaven?” Castiel stares at him, confused. “Um. Yeah, guess that’s a dumb question.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “I mean, we have a sky, right? But the one on Earth, it’s different. They have night and day, the sun, the moon, stars—it’s freaking depressing, our sky. Y’know?”

“We have the same sky as Earth. In Heaven,” Castiel replies.

“Must be nice, seeing the stars and stuff.” Castiel likes to think so.


	4. Chapter Three

In the wee hours of the morning, Dean returns to his bedroom. He falls into a light sleep and wakes up when he hears Dad and Sam stirring. He doesn’t want to deal with Sam’s questions about what he’s gonna do with Castiel, though, especially since he doesn’t really know. No one can find out he lied about Castiel’s death or he’s a goner. He can’t just kill Castiel and be done with it because, well, besides the fact that the dude’s his soulmate, Dean kinda likes the dorky guy. Maybe Castiel can go back to Heaven, even if the thought of never seeing him again is kind of sad. Not that there’s a way for Castiel to get to Heaven, anyway. Unless—

There’s another angel coming. Muriel. And Lucifer’s decided to leave her alone. If they can find her, perhaps she can take Castiel back to Heaven with her. They can explain the situation.—

But if Heaven learns they have a mole in their midst, that’ll make Dean a traitor.

Shit.

Still, it’s a risk he’s gotta take. He can’t keep Castiel here forever; his lies would eventually be discovered.

After grabbing a bite to eat, Dean heads to the basement. “I have a proposition.”

“Yes?” Castiel replies.

“Um.” Suddenly, he feels self-conscious. He scratches at his temple. “Do you wanna go back to Heaven?”

Castiel gapes at him. “You’d let me go?”

Dean shrugs. “It’s not like keeping you here was a well-thought-out plan. And Lucifer thinks you’re dead, so . . . ”

“But don’t you want to know why we’re soulmates?”

“’Course. But I’m not sure how we’d find that out, exactly. I mean, why are any people soulmates?”

“True.” Castiel casts his eyes down as he thinks. When his eyes dart back up, meeting Dean’s, he seems to have made up his mind. “I would like to go home. But how would I leave?”

“I have an idea. There’s this angel Heaven’s sending to find out what happened to you and your crew. Lucifer’s not gonna mess with her; he wants her to tell Heaven about how we killed the other angels. She’s got to have a way back home, right?”

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean. “How do you know that? Who has betrayed Heaven?”

“I’m not gonna tell you that.” Castiel glares at him. “What, I’m not just gonna rat Hell out, you know.”

“I understand. Then yes. Let’s find her.”

Dean unlocks the cage and hopes Castiel’s not tricking him. He could easily overpower Dean and kill him right now. He allows Castiel to retrieve his angel-blade and leads the way out of the house. They proceed in silence. It’s not unpleasant; it might even be downright companionable.

“Do you know who Heaven sent?” Castiel asks when they’ve almost reached the place where Heaven and Hell had skirmished mere days ago.

“Someone named Muriel?”

Castiel nods in acknowledgment. Not long after that, they stumble upon the body of an angel, her wings fanned out on the ground, a deep gash where her heart would be. Her blonde hair hangs limply, spattered with blood.

Castiel gasps. He turns on Dean accusingly. “You said Lucifer gave orders not to kill her.”

Dean can’t help but stare himself, his eyes wide. “He did,” he squeaks out.

“Poor Muriel.” His blue eyes grow mournful, dimming their glow. “She died here all alone.” He kneels beside the angel, closes his eyes, and bows his head. Dean figures he’s praying. That’s something angels do, right? At any rate, he’s paying his respects, and he deserves a moment.

Something rustles in the thick trees behind Castiel. Dean’s senses perk up. Again, something scurries near the edge of his visual field.  Someone dashes out of the shadows, sword aimed at Castiel’s back.

“Cas, watch out!” Dean shouts.

Castiel springs to his feet, spins around, and disarms the man in one swift motion.

“Winchester!” he seethes just as Dean recognizes him. Brady. “Imagine you, a traitor.”

Castiel plunges his sword into Brady’s chest, and Brady collapses, lifeless.

“Shit,” Dean mutters. “We just . . . we killed him.” Brady might be a douche, but as a demon, he’s one of Dean’s compatriots.

Castiel’s expression grows puzzled. “ _We_ didn’t. I did.”

“Yeah, um, but y’know. It’s my fault.” Well, he’s not gonna let this expedition be for nothing. He falls to his knees and begins rifling through Muriel’s garments.

“What’re you doing?” Castiel sputters, scandalized.

“She’s gotta have one of those stone things,” Dean explains absently. He has no clue how the pebbles work, just that one’s necessary for Castiel to return to Heaven. But he doesn’t find any stone. Either she doesn’t have one, or it’s well-hidden.

“Dude, she’s got nothing,” Dean announces as he stands up.

“Are you sure?”

Dean gestures at the body. “You’re welcome to look for yourself.”

Castiel shakes his head. “We should bury her.”

“Seriously? We could be ambushed by more demons, Cas. And this time, not just one.”

“I can take them.”

 _Yeah, I’m sure you can. If they’re the run-on-of-the-mill variety_. “But what if it’s someone higher up the food chain this time?” _Alastair_ , Dean thinks, his blood running cold. “Lilith. Or Lucifer.”

Eventually, Castiel nods, mournful. “I suppose you are right.” He glances at the body one last time. “Good-bye, Muriel.”

When they get home, Dean sinks into a chair at the kitchen table and holds his head in his hands. Castiel joins him. “Are you all right?” Castiel ventures.

Dean releases an incredulous laugh. “You’re askin’ me?” He raises his eyes while keeping his hands folded on the table, his chin resting on them. “You’re the one who just found out you’re stuck in Hell.”

Castiel frowns. “I think something’s wrong. Your light, it’s duller.”

“Light? What light?”

Castiel sighs. “I might as well tell you. To you, my eyes glow, yes?” Dean nods. “For me, I see the light of your soul.”

Dean snorts. “I ain’t got no light in my soul.”

“You do. It . . . it’s the most radiant, purest light I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s crazy talk.”

Castiel tilts his head and squints. “Why?”

“’Cause . . . I’m a demented S.O.B. I like to hurt things.”

“I don’t know about that.” Castiel straightens up. “I think there’s more to you than you realize.”

Dean sits up properly, mimicking Castiel. “What do you think it means? Us seeing this weird shit?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if we ever will.”

The door bursts open, and Dean and Castiel both flinch. Thankfully, it’s just Sam.

“What the fuck, Dean?” Sam bursts. “You let him upstairs?”

“There’s something more important going on here, Sammy.”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the cupboard. “Oh, yeah? What?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“I was set up by someone,” Castiel inserts.

“We already know that.”

Castiel glowers. “You know who tried to have me killed, and you won’t tell me.”

“We killed Brady,” Dean confesses to Sam.

“What?!” Sam exclaims.

“He was gonna kill Cas.”

“What do you mean? He came over?”

“No. Me and Cas went to meet another angel so he could go home.” Sam opens his mouth to interrupt, and Dean holds up a hand to stall him. “But she was dead. Only, Lucifer said to keep her alive.”

“You were gonna let Castiel go back to Heaven? What were you gonna tell Lucifer once he resurfaced?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Dean admits.

“Real smart, Dean.”

“Didn’t you hear what else I said? Something fishy’s going on. We can’t trust anyone.”

“Hmm. What’re you doing here, anyway? Weren’t you supposed to go to work?”

“I called in sick?”

“Demons get sick?” Castiel interjects.

“Our wounds heal real quick, but we’ve got nothin’ on the common cold.”

“You’re right, Dean,” Sam acknowledges. “Until we figure out what’s going on, we trust no one but each other.”

“Good.”

“But Castiel needs to go back downstairs before Dad gets home.”

Castiel abruptly stands up. “I’ll go now.”

“Right behind ya,” Dean says.

In the basement, Dean gives Castiel a considering look. “I don’t really wanna put you back in the cage.”

“Okay.”

“But you gotta promise not to try anything.”

“As I’ve mentioned before. Where would I go?”

“So you promise?”

“Yes.”

Dean nods to himself. “All right then. That’s that.”

“You trust me enough to take my word.”

“Guess so.” _Huh. We haven’t even known each other for a week_.

“So you trust me, your brother, and no one else.”

“Looks like it.”

Castiel settles in a chair, and Dean perches on another. “I’m gonna stay down here for a little bit. Keep you company.”

“Okay.”

xxxxxxxxxx

To Castiel’s surprise, once the other occupants of the house are asleep, Dean joins him in the basement.

“Don’t you need sleep?” Castiel inquires.

“Maybe in a little bit.”

“There’s no need to keep me under guard. I’m not leaving.”

“I know.” In the half-light of the lantern, Castiel swears Dean’s cheeks redden. “I just felt like coming down here.”

“Oh.”

After a few minutes of silence, Dean admits, “I am curious about Heaven. What it’s like.”

Castiel’s guard goes up. “I’m not going to give away any of Heaven’s secrets.”

“I don’t mean nothin’ like that. Just. Little things. Like, what’s it like to grow up without a family?”

“In Heaven, we’re all one family.”

“That sounds like some creepy cult shit, you know that?”

“I assure you it is not. Love is the governing principle of Heaven, and we love each other equally.”

“Oh, yeah, angels are a ‘loving’ people. That’s why you like to come down here and massacre demons.”

“There is a big difference between ‘us’ and ‘them.’” Dean glares at him, and Castiel sighs. “Or so we’re taught. That demons don’t know what love is.”

Dean snorts. “We know what love is.”

“I’m starting to see that,” Castiel realizes. He recognizes it in Dean’s protective attitude toward Sam.

“Besides, if you’re supposed to love everyone equally, then why do people have soulmates?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” The propaganda in Heaven isn’t true, is it? Because love must be more than this universal adoration when it comes to soulmates. And what about friends? Castiel’s always felt stronger love for his friends than for others, but he’d thought that was because he’s defective. It made sense. Why else would he have a demon for a soulmate?

But what if everyone has such feelings and they just hide them because they don’t want others to judge them?

“In Hell, family’s all you got.” Castiel cocks his head to the side, uncomprehending. “No matter what happens, you know you can trust family. It’s how we survive.”

“If that’s true, then why are you keeping me a secret from your father?”

Dean flinches. “Gee, maybe it’s ’cause you’re a freakin’ _angel_ and an enemy, you know?”

Castiel still doesn’t understand. “But if loyalty is to family first and foremost, shouldn’t he know?”

“He thinks an angel killed Mom, okay?”

Strange way of phrasing it. “But you don’t?”

“I’m not sure. No one knows what really happened.”

“Then why does your father believe it?”

“He says he came across some documents at the courthouse, but he won’t let Sam or me see them.”

Another crack in the connection between family and trust. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.” He averts his eyes and swallows. “Is Heaven pretty, at least?”

Castiel doesn’t comment on the change of subject. “Yes. We have so many gardens . . . I miss them.” All the greenery, the fields of flowers, the majestic trees.

“Don’t blame ya. This place is a shithole.”

Castiel feels a sudden urge to show Dean his favorite spots in the gardens of Heaven, to let him see just how beautiful the world can be. He imagines the wonder that would grace Dean’s countenance, how resplendently green his eyes would be, how the light of his soul would blossom to a fuller extent.


	5. Chapter Four

“Cas, come up here!” Dean calls from upstairs. Earlier, Castiel had heard both Sam and their father depart for work.

Castiel climbs the stairs and joins Dean at the kitchen table, where he’s shoving a heel of bread into his mouth.

“Don’t you have to go to work?” Castiel asks.

“’Far as they’re concerned, I’ve still got a cold.”

“But you will have to return sometime.”

“Yeah. Just gotta brace myself to be on the lookout. Since I’ve got no idea what’s going on around here.” Dean guzzles his orange juice then slams the empty glass on the table. “I’ve been thinkin’ more about the differences between Heaven and Hell. It’s fascinating how little we actually know about each other, you know?”

“Yes.”

“So, let’s talk education.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. What was your schooling like?”

“We start at age two. Until we’re four, we’re educated via the Montessori method, as I think humans term it.” Dean gives him a blank look. “Essentially, we explore our own interests.”

“Ah.”

“Then it’s classrooms until we’re sixteen, when we’re given a primary and secondary specialty to study for two years. I wanted to be a scholar, but the elders wouldn’t allow me to choose it as my primary. They said I was a natural soldier, so the scholar discipline was my secondary.”

“Huh. Sam’s a scholar.”

“But he was fighting with you.”

“Yeah, he’s in the reserves.”

“What about in Hell? What’s the educational system like?”

“Funny how similar it is. Well, the part where we’re in the classroom from four until sixteen. Then we’re given an apprenticeship for two years.”

“An apprenticeship in your future discipline?”

Dean winces. “Not exactly. Here in Hell, we’ve got what you call full-time torturers.—”

“I thought everyone partook in torture down here.”

“Not exactly. I mean, we can, if we want. Like a hobby.” What a grotesque hobby. “But not everyone does it full-time. After we turn sixteen, we spend two years with one of them. Learning their craft, but also experiencing the torture.” Castiel’s mouth falls open. “To know what it is we’re doing down here, you know? To understand what the unrighteous souls go through. Some of it’s not that bad. There’s this chick named Ruby Sam apprenticed under. Her main shtick is injecting blood into people and making them drink it.” That sounds appalling. “It’s some of the mildest stuff down here, for the souls who were kinda-sorta bad. Like, after a set term of penitence, they get whisked off to Heaven.”

“They do?”

“You didn’t know?”

“All we know is that torture is Hell’s primary trade.”

“Anyway, Sam liked that a little too much. Kinda had me worried for a bit. But I apprenticed under some guy named Alastair. One of the higher ups, like all soldiers do.” Dean laughs nervously. “There’s no limit to the man’s imagination.”

Dean’s soul grows brighter, like it might explode. Deep fissures appear within the light, and Castiel sees—

_A lanky man with cold blue eyes gazes down at Dean.—_

_He shoves a blade into Dean’s hand, forces it closed around the hilt. Dean stares at it, eyes wide with dread.—_

_The man flays Dean inch by inch, exposing the bone and muscle underneath.—_

_Dean screams, and the man saws off his tongue, rips out his vocal cords in one swift motion.—_

_Tears leak from Dean’s eyes, and the man uses a blade to pry off both eyelids.—_

_An older brown-haired man jeers down at Dean for his weakness. “Daddy—” Dean sniffles, and his father slaps him. “Buck up, boy. If you can’t take this, you’re no soldier.”—_

_With no hesitation, Dean takes the knife, his expression a mask of neutrality. But when he wields the knife on the victim, his mouth twists into a cruel smile. The lanky man pats Dean’s shoulder when he finishes dismembering the person. “I carved you into a new animal, Dean,” he proclaims proudly. The person’s body starts to reassemble._

“Cas!” Dean exclaims.

Oh. He’d slumped down in the chair, almost falling to the floor, the flashes had overwhelmed him so.

Dean kneels at his side and helps him resume a sitting position. “What happened?”

“I—” Castiel wills his body to stop shaking, but to no avail. “I saw it.”

Dean freezes with his hand on Castiel’s bicep. “What?”

“Alastair . . . and you.” The memories must’ve been intense, to leap to Castiel’s consciousness like that. And no wonder. “I’m sorry.”

Dean removes his hand and stands up. “You’ve always known what I am. A monster. We’re all monsters down here.—”

“No.”

Dean’s expression grows stony. “Fuck you.” He storms out of the house.

Dean isn’t a monster. Castiel knows that. He might have thought so at first, before he knew anything about the other man. How deeply he can love, for one.

No, Dean isn’t a monster, no matter how much Hell had attempted to make him one.

Castiel doesn’t think Sam is, either. How many other demons might not actually be monsters? And how many are monsters only because of sick teachers like Alastair?

Castiel doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time the door opens and closes again. It’s Sam.

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks.

“He left,” Castiel answers.

“Left? He finally went to work?” Castiel shrugs. Sam joins him at the table and studies him with the most earnest puppy dog eyes Castiel has ever seen. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel replies softly. “He was telling me about Alastair. It was upsetting to him.” _To me_ , Castiel doesn’t add.

Sam’s eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. “He told you about Alastair? He won’t even talk to _me_ about Alastair.”

“Not exactly. He just mentioned the name. Then I saw . . . it was overpowering.” He stares down at the wood of the table, his eyes watering.

“You saw his memories?”

“Just flashes.”

“Is this like how you’re both hurt when someone harms one of you?”

“I think so.” _It must’ve been strong for it to be able to jump into my psyche. Of course it was. I saw it._

Sam pales. He must come to the same realization. “Shit.” Sam taps Castiel’s hand. “Are you all right?”

Castiel forces the tears away and meets Sam’s gaze. “Yes.” _I’m not the one who experienced it_.

“Okay. Um. Hate to do this to you, but Dad might be home soon, so . . . ” He nods at the basement door.

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Castiel retires to the basement, his thoughts still focused on Dean.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean flees. That look on Castiel’s face, when he’d confessed to seeing Dean’s time with Alastair, the astonishment, shock, and most of all, disgust . . . Dean just couldn’t face it. He’d been starting to really like the guy; he’d thought that maybe Cas liked him some, too, even though Dean had kidnapped him. But Dean had to go and open his big fat mouth, mention Alastair, and Cas had been reminded of Dean’s true nature, the rot and ugliness that lurked inside. Yeah, Cas had tried to reassure Dean, for who knows what reason, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’d probably just been trying to keep Dean from going apeshit on him.

What the fuck had Dean been thinking, anyway? That Castiel and he could be friends, that they could actually form a relationship just because some stupid mirrors had said they’re soulmates?

Not that Castiel himself is a saint. He’d witnessed how Cas could kill quickly and efficiently; it’d magnetized him. But demons are the lowest of the low by definition. Dean wishes he could embrace it, like a demon’s supposed to. Then he could revel in his terrible nature.

“Dean?” someone calls. He flinches at the voice.

He turns to the man approaching him and pastes on a wide smile. “Hello, Alastair.”

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Uh, heading there now,” Dean lies. Shit. Guess he has to make an appearance at the palace, then.

“Ah.” He places a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes. Dean restrains the urge to jerk away. “I haven’t seen you come by the torture fields in a while.”

“Haven’t been in the mood.” Yeah, sometimes he tortures others in his free time. A twisted part of himself misses it, no matter how much that repulses him. There’s something freeing about it, almost pure. He can get lost in the process, leaving his mind refreshingly blank.

“That’s a shame. You should visit sometime.”

“Uh huh.”

“You would’ve made a first-class torturer, you know.” A smile creeps over Alastair’s face. “It was your true calling. You had such skill . . . It reminded me of myself.”

“I like the army just fine,” Dean asserts, even as he feels like curling into a ball. He remembers the refrain Alastair used to pound into his skull. _You were made for this, Dean._

Deep down, he knows it’s true, no matter how much he tries to deny it.

“I hope I’ll see you soon?” Alastair adds.

“Yeah.”

Alastair leaves, and Dean resumes his progress toward the palace. When he arrives, he heads to the war room, where he finds ten members of the council assembled.

“Hello, Dean,” Lilith greets him. “Lucifer said you were ill.”

“I’m feeling better,” Dean replies. He takes a seat at the table just as Uriel walks in.

“Finally,” Azazel remarks. “Are you here to provide an update?”

“Yes,” Uriel answers as he settles into the chair next to Dean.

“Should we wait for Lucifer?” Gordon Walker asks.

“I’ve already given him my report.”

“What is the status? Is Heaven aware of our rout against their force of five?”

“Yes. Muriel found the bodies of four of the angels and transported them back to Heaven, where she reported on her findings. They know Hell’s expecting them to attempt to take the grimoire again.”

Now that’s a flat-out lie. Has Uriel been stringing Hell along all this time? Or is there a conspiracy at work?

“Four bodies? I thought they sent five soldiers?” Gordon inserts.

“Yes. Dean mentioned in his report that he killed Castiel, but no one has found his body. We assume it has been eaten, as does Heaven. Heaven is holding a memorial for the four other soldiers today.”

“What about Cas—tiel?” Shit. Dean needs to monitor himself more carefully. “He doesn’t get a memorial?”

“Why do you care?” Uriel counters. Everyone stares at Dean. Yeah, the question hadn’t been smart.

Dean shrugs. “I don’t,” Dean responds in what he hopes is a nonchalant tone. “I was just curious.”

“Castiel will receive a memorial tomorrow. Since he was consumed by a demon, his death is tainted with ignominy.”

“Oh.” Well, that sucks. He doesn’t see why being devoured by a demon should bring shame upon someone. It’s not like they could help it; they were already dead.

“What is Heaven’s plan now?” Azazel asks.

“They plan to regroup. They will prepare a larger force to send down.”

“You still don’t know what’s in the grimoire?”

“No.”

“Neither do we,” Lilith cuts in. “The university hasn’t been able to determine what it says, just that it’s in an old form of Enochian.” She gives Uriel a considering look. “You wouldn’t be able to translate it, would you?”

Uriel shakes his head. “Languages are not my specialty.”

Does Uriel really not know what’s in the grimoire, or is he lying? Does Castiel know?

They adjourn. Dean spends the rest of the day in the barracks, drilling new recruits on basic military knowledge. A bit below his pay grade, but nothing else is going on right now.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Dean arrives home, Sam and Dad have already started dinner. He pours himself a beer and joins them.

“Dean, I’ve heard you missed a couple days of work. Is that true?” Dad asks.

“Yep.” Here goes. Dad thinks you should miss work only if you’re lying on your deathbed.

“They said you were sick?”

“Yeah, I haven’t been feeling so hot lately.”

Dad scoffs. “You don’t look so bad to me . . . I know what you’ve been up to, boy.”

Dean does a double take. “What?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staying up late. Whatever you’re doing, the partying, it’s gotta stop. You won’t get a third chance.”

Dean flushes. About three years ago, he went through a partying phase. He shirked his duties in the army and almost lost his job. They’d kept him only because of Dad’s influence. He cleaned up his act fast; he hadn’t liked going out that much, anyway. It’s just that he’d always felt this void, and he was trying to find ways to fill the emptiness. But indulgence had just made him feel worse.

“I haven’t been partying,” Dean asserts.

“I hope not,” Dad grunts.

In order to deflect suspicion, Dean turns in for the night before either Sam or Dad. He wants to apologize to Cas, though. He forces himself to stay awake until around two hours after Dad and Sam go to bed.

He lights a lantern then creeps out of his room and down the stairway, where Cas is huddled against the far wall, halfway dozing. He perks up. “Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas.” Dean sinks into one of the chairs. “Listen. Uh.” He scratches at his neck while he tries to find the right words. “I’m sorry for, uh, earlier. I’m sorry that you had to see all that shit with Alastair. I’m a dick.”

Castiel squints. “Why do you say that?”

“I was an ass to you. And, um . . . you saw what I’m capable of. I’m a monster.”

“I don’t think so.”

Dean grows indignant. “Why not? I fucking love to hurt people, Cas. _Love_ it.”

“I don’t believe you do.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Castiel’s eyes widen at the heat in Dean’s voice. “I kidnap you, chain you up, try to torture you, and you don’t think I’m a monster? I let you out of the cage, and you don’t even run away.—”

Cas rests his chin on his knees. “I have nowhere to go.”

“But you don’t have to stay with me.”

“I don’t. But you’re my soulmate, and . . . I enjoy your company.”

“That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Dean—”

“You must be broken.”

“Dean—”

“You know how demented I am, how . . . ” Dean clenches his hands into fists to hide their shaking. “I was Alastair’s star pupil.”

“Alastair is a monster.”

“No shit.”

“ _You are not_.”

“What?”

“What happened . . . it’s not your fault. Alastair forced you into it.”

“No. I had a choice. And I, Alastair . . . he showed me who I really am at heart.”

“He . . . I think the term for what you experienced is Stockholm Syndrome.” Dean snorts. He knows damn well what Stockholm Syndrome is; Cas is full of shit. “And . . . Dean. You’re not broken.”

Tears spill over. Only now does Dean realize they’ve been building up the whole time. Cas stands up and perches on a chair next to Dean. He folds his hands around one of Dean’s, pulls him in. Dean buries his face in the crook of Cas’s neck. Cas runs a hand up and down his back.

“You’re not broken, Dean. You’re not broken,” Cas whispers.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel’s heart throbs as Dean unravels, devolving into abject misery. _You must be broken_. Castiel’s initial instinct is to become defensive; then he realizes that’s not what Dean means. _I must be broken._

He feels compelled to soothe the man.

“You’re not broken, Dean. You’re not broken,” Castiel reassures Dean while rubbing Dean’s back. One of his hands migrates up to Dean’s hair, which he strokes.

They must doze off, because the next thing Castiel knows, he’s blinking awake with Dean slumped onto him. When one of Castiel’s hands slides off of Dean’s body, Dean stirs.

“Shit,” Dean mumbles as he abruptly draws back. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Um . . . I slobbered all over you.”

Castiel shrugs. “It is of no import.”

“Oh. Well.” Dean blushes, his green eyes wide and vulnerable. “Thanks. For everything.”

Dean’s soul shimmers, and Castiel smiles at the radiance of it. “You are very welcome.”

Dean studies him for a minute. “Do you know anyone named Uriel?”

“He’s a member of Michael’s council, but he used to be one of Heaven’s greatest generals. I served under him.” Castiel narrows his eyes. “Why? Did Uriel—is he the one who set me up?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs.

“But why would he . . . ” Castiel mutters to himself.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Dean replies.  With a regretful look, he croaks, “Um. I should probably get back upstairs.” He nods sheepishly toward the basement door.

“Of course.”

Castiel’s mind reels with Dean’s revelation. Uriel had recommended Castiel for the mission, claiming that he was impressed with Castiel’s service record. He would’ve never questioned Uriel’s loyalty to Sovereign Michael. To find out that he’s been scheming with Hell? And he’d sent Castiel’s group to Hell just so they’d get killed? What’s he trying to accomplish?


	6. Chapter Five

After Dad departs for court, Dean tells Sam, “Let’s go downstairs. Time for an update.” He needs to share yesterday’s proceedings at the war council. Maybe Sam or Cas can provide insight into what the events mean.

“What? Did something else happen at the palace?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.”

“Should we really include Castiel? We don’t know much about him.”

“This involves him. And I . . . ” He licks his lips nervously. “I trust him.”

Sam’s eyes bulge. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” If Cas could find it in himself to comfort Dean, of all things, after seeing what Dean had done with Alastair; if, instead of throwing Dean’s provocations back in his face, he responds with sensitivity, all of it sincere—then trusting Cas is the least he can do. All his life, Sam has been the only one who Dean knows is solid. Trusting others, even Dad, had led to hurt and betrayal.

But Cas isn’t like anyone in Hell.

He’d wager none of the other angels are like Cas, either.

Not that Dean has met many other angels—only Uriel. But there’s an essence about Cas . . . an earnestness or something similar, that just feels unique to him.

“Okay,” Sam responds. “If you trust him, so do I.”

Dean smiles. “Thanks.”

In the basement, Dean sits down beside Cas while Sam remains standing. “So. Before we go to work,” Dean announces. “Uriel gave another report yesterday.” Sam looks surprised that Dean mentions Uriel’s name, but he doesn’t say anything. “He said Muriel found the bodies of the other four angels and took them back to Heaven.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “That’s a lie.”

“No shit. But that’s what he told us. He also said there’d be funerals for all four of them.”

“Four? What about Cas?” Sam interjects.

“They don’t have a body, obviously.”

“So?”

“They’d hold only a small ceremony. If they actually have one,” Cas explains. “They’d assume a demon must’ve eaten me, which would be shameful. It means I’m inherently flawed. Deviant.”

“What? How does that make any sense?”

“I know, right?” Dean agrees.

Cas sighs. “I’m not saying I agree with it. But it’s a customary belief in Heaven.”

Neither Sam nor Cas know what to make of Uriel’s false report.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean comes home early so he can check on Cas before Dad gets home. Downstairs, he finds Cas sitting in a chair, looking lost. “How’re you holding up?” Dean asks as he takes a seat next to him.

Cas shrugs. “What do you think?”

Dean wraps an arm around him, pulls him close. “I’m sorry, man,” he whispers into Cas’s hair. When he draws back, he’s suddenly awestruck. While Cas’s eyes still glow, it’s like Dean can see their usual state at the same time, and damn, are they pretty. So blue. And the wings, though they’re not the biggest he’s ever seen, are impressive nevertheless.

He and Cas make small talk for a bit until, out of nowhere, Cas blurts, “I miss my friends.”

“You got a lot of those?” Of course he does. He may be a little dorky, but he’s so damn likable.

“Only a few. You?”

“We don’t really have friends in Hell. Just allies. Although there’s one guy . . . early in my soldier days, we got close.” Dean’s about to explain who Benny is, but Cas holds up a hand.

“Do you hear that?”

“What?” Dean replies.

“Someone’s upstairs.”

“Probably just Sam.” Dad shouldn’t be home for a good while yet. This morning, he’d complained about the docket’s length.

Dean’s disproven a second later, however. “Dean-o! You home?” Dad shouts. Dean holds his breath, and Cas stills. Dad’s footsteps move closer to the basement. “The war council told me you went home early.” The door creaks open. “You down here?” Dad takes the stairs one deliberate step at a time until he finally sees them.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Dad whips out a knife and pushes Cas against the wall. “You piece of shit!” Dad screeches as he presses the knife to Cas’s throat. “First you angels take my wife from me, and now you want my son?” he spits.

“Dad—” Dean cuts in.

“It’s gonna be slow,” Dad drawls. “For what you sons a bitches did to Mary—”

“Dad, please!” Dean exclaims. “You can’t. He’s my soulmate.”

Dad turns to Dean with incredulous eyes. “That’s impossible.” He directs his attention back to Cas and carves out a thin slice of his neck. The cut materializes on Dean’s own neck, and Dean clutches at it.

“Dad, stop!” Dean pleads. “Whatever you do to him . . . you do to me.” He indicates the wound on his throat.

“That’s not how soulmates work!”

“It’s how we do.”

“In that case . . . maybe you deserve to die.” His eyes contain nothing but pure hatred.

Cas shoves Dad across the room and shouts, “Dean, run!” He darts upstairs, and Dean follows. Once he’s outside, Cas gathers Dean into his arms and takes flight.

“Holy shit!” Dean squeals. Damn, could he have sounded any more like a girl? Everything spins around, and the ground is blurry. He thinks he might vomit. “Cas—” Before Dean knows it, they’ve landed.

“You idiot!” Dean blusters. “Don’t ever do that again.” Cas’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “It makes us a big target.”

“We needed to get away fast,” Cas asserts.

“Okay. So where do we go now, genius?”

“I don’t know. Hell is your domain.”

 _Don’t remind me. I hate this damn place_. “I dunno. Let’s just look around, yeah?”

They walk in silence until Dean spots a small cave. “There,” he suggests, pointing at it. “It’ll keep us outta sight while we regroup.”

“All right.”

The cave is a tight fit. Dean closes his eyes and focuses on his own breathing. If he doesn’t, he’ll fixate on the venom in Dad’s eyes, the words he’d spouted. And what if he never sees Sammy again—?

Dean yelps. Without warning, he’s been completely wrapped in something furry. Cas’s wings—when he feels the feathers graze his skin, goosebumps form. He gapes up at Cas.

“You were shivering,” Cas observes, retracting one wing. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Dean grasps at Cas’s wingtips and pulls the appendage back toward himself. “Stay.”

“All right.” With the words, Cas’s breath brushes Dean’s neck.

Immersed in the cocoon of Cas’s wings, Dean feels at peace.

xxxxxxxxxx

Cradling Dean in his wings—it feels natural. The sensation of Dean’s skin against his wings produces a subtle tingle. It warms Castiel into a state of languorous contentment.

In the grip of Castiel’s wings, Dean’s body relaxes. Castiel drifts off into a pleasant half-awake, half-dreaming state . . .

With sudden alarm, he’s jolted into awareness. Dean’s body is trembling violently, and he groans in his sleep.

Instinctively, he brushes his wingtips along Dean’s cheekbones. Dean’s eyes flutter open. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hello,” Castiel intones. Abashed, he withdraws the wingtips. “I’m sorry. You seemed distressed.”

“Hmm.” Dean flushes. “I was having a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” He pauses. “I’m okay now.” He flushes. “The wings . . . I don’t mind.”

“Are you giving me permission to resume my previous activity?”

Dean barks a laugh. “You really are weird, you know that?”

Castiel lowers his eyes. “I apologize.”

“Don’t.” Dean grins. “I like it.”

Castiel sweeps his wingtips over Dean’s cheeks; this time, their progress continues down to Dean’s neck. At his pulse point, Castiel feels a vibration that reminds him of a purring cat’s. They remain like that until Dean finally speaks.

“I think I know where we can go.”

Castiel stills. “Where?”

“Crowley’s estate.”

Castiel’s wings fall to Dean’s sides. “Crowley? Isn’t he the King of the Crossroads?” As far as he knows, Crowley is in charge of the demons who convince humans to bargain their souls away.

“Yeah.”

Castiel scoots back to get a better view of Dean. “He and his division trick people into giving their souls to Hell.”

“Yep.”

“And you think he can be trusted?” Castiel seethes.

“No. But no one can be trusted in Hell, Cas. Well, except Sam, but he can’t do anything for us, and we’d just be putting him in danger. Crowley knows that you exist.—”

“He knows about me?”

“Not _you_ per se. But he records the proceedings of the Soulmate Ceremonies, and he knows I saw an angel. In all that time, he hasn’t told anyone.”

“Why not?”

Dean shrugs. “He has his own reasons, I’m sure. And he’s got the resources to protect us, if he wants.”

“If he wants,” Castiel echoes softly. “I don’t know, Dean. I can’t condone his behavior.”

Dean flinches. “He’s not a saint, obviously, but neither am I . . . I’m worse. You know what I did with Alastair. I _liked_ it.”

Castiel grasps Dean’s hand and rubs his thumb over the palm. “That’s not who you are, Dean. I know it.”

Dean snorts. “Whatever. Just. Besides Crowley, I don’t think we have any options.”

Castiel contemplates the matter for a few moments then nods. “All right.”

They crawl out of the cave, Castiel staying one step behind as Dean leads the way. After about an hour, Crowley’s estate appears in the distance. It’s large, a wide swathe of burnt grass surrounding a three-story mansion of gray stone as well as a few smaller buildings. A wrought iron fence encloses the property, and several demons patrol the perimeter. As they get closer, rather than heading straight for the entrance, Dean rounds toward the rear.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks.

“I know a back way,” Dean explains. “I don’t want anyone to see us. You don’t know who’s gonna go running to Lucifer.”

“Oh.”

When they reach the fence, no one else is in sight. After opening the gate, they head toward a small wooden storage shed. Once they’re inside it, Dean squats down and pries open a section of the floor. A few steps lead downward.

“It’s a secret entrance. Directly to Crowley’s office.”

Castiel nods. They proceed down the stairs; then Dean closes the door above them. It’s almost pitch black.

Dean clasps Castiel’s hand and squeezes. “Stay with me. I know the way.”

Castiel loses track of all the twists and turns they traverse. Just when he starts to feel dizzy, Dean stops. He pulls down a door, accompanied by another set of stairs, and releases Castiel’s hand. With trepidation, he follows Dean upward. He wonders how much Dean associates with Crowley; if he knows about a secret entrance, it must be a fair amount.

But there’s so much Castiel hadn’t known about Hell. Perhaps his knowledge about Crowley is faulty as well. Then again, Dean had admitted that Crowley bargains with humans for their souls.

“Here we are,” Dean murmurs. Castiel glances around. They appear to be in some sort of antechamber, fitted out with black leather sofas and chairs, small black wooden tables, red carpet, and mahogany walls.

“Hope he’s not too busy,” Dean comments. He raps on the door, and Castiel waits with bated breath.

The door slides open, and a man dressed in solid black steps out. “What now?” he sulks, distracted. “I thought I told you—” He finally notices the two men before him. “Dean Winchester?” His eyes scour over Dean’s body before roaming to Castiel’s. “I see you brought your angel.”

Castiel immediately dislikes him. His tone and countenance are drenched with pure lechery.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean mumbles.

Crowley closes the door behind himself and gestures at the couches. “Have a seat.”

Dean settles onto a sofa, and Castiel perches next to him. Crowley seats himself on the sofa on the other side of Dean.

“I had heard rumblings, but . . . ” Crowley states.

Dean narrows his eyes. “What are they saying about me in Lucifer’s palace?” he asks.

“I am not privy to the war council’s proceedings, of course, but I do have my eyes and ears. Apparently Lucifer had expressed skepticism of your report concerning Castiel’s death.” He turns to Castiel. “I assume you are he?” Castiel nods curtly, and Crowley’s attention returns to Dean. “And someone reported seeing you cavorting with an angel mere hours ago. His description matched Castiel’s. Still, I had my doubts.” His eyes wander to the space between Dean and Castiel. “My spies tell me that Castiel is the very model of propriety, and he reportedly had no soulmate.” His eyes rove to Castiel. “But I must admit, Dean, he’s an impeccable match for your description after the ceremony.”

“You have spies in Heaven?” Castiel sputters.

“Of course.”

“Who?”

Crowley tsks. “You can’t expect a man to give up his secrets.”

Castiel’s mind reels at the revelation. How many spies does Crowley have? Besides Uriel, who else might be a traitor? With so much treachery, how can you trust anyone?

Dean must sense Castiel’s unease, for he pats Castiel’s forearm then lets his hand linger. “So Lucifer knows about Cas?”

If Crowley is surprised by the nickname, he doesn’t show it. “I imagine so. I assume you’d like me to somehow hide you two bozos?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know how much I’d be sticking out my neck here?”

Dean smiles with exaggerated sweetness. “C’mon, Crowley. I know you’re not the Master’s biggest fan.” At the word “Master,” Crowley actually shudders. “Do you really wanna help him out here?”

Crowley shrugs. “I do owe my position to him, you realize. But he’s soured on me of late. Currying a little favor couldn’t hurt.”

Dean pales. “You really would give us up? Remember what you said after the ceremony? That an angel could—?”

_That an angel could what?_

Crowley holds up a hand. “I know what I said. I stand by it.” He leans back and contemplates the situation. “But if I were to shelter you two, we would need a plan.”

“We’ll figure it out as we go.”

“Not gonna cut it.”

“Crowley—”

“No, he’s right,” Castiel recognizes. They can’t just hole up forever. Eventually, they’d be discovered.

“Yeah? Got any bright ideas?” Dean hurls.

“Not yet.”

“What about you, Crowley?”

“No,” Crowley responds. “But having one is important . . . It’s late. We can discuss it tomorrow. If you agree?”

“Yeah.” After Dean answers, Crowley turns to Castiel, who nods.

“Good. Now that’s settled. You should get some rest. I’ll show you to your room.”

Crowley leads them down a short red-carpeted hallway and stops at the end. He turns the knob, and the door swings open to reveal a king-size bed, a dresser, and two end tables. “It’s got a bathroom attached,” Crowley mentions.

“There’s only one bed,” Dean comments.

“Observant,” Crowley deadpans.

“You don’t have one with two beds?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, you’re soulmates. What’s the problem?”

“Uh. Nothing.” He blushes and eyes Castiel.

Castiel claps Dean on the shoulder, turns to Crowley, and smiles brightly. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Crowley replies. To Dean, he adds, “You could learn some things from him. Like gratitude . Good night, boys.”

“Good night,” Castiel calls after him.

They enter, and Dean shuts the door behind them. “Sorry for this,” he mumbles. “I can take the couch.”

“I don’t mind sharing the bed.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“It is rather large.” Castiel sits on the edge of the bed and continues, “And he’s right. We are soulmates.”

“But if you’re not comfortable . . . ”

“I’m all right with it.” With surprise, he realizes his words are completely true. “But if you’re not, I can sleep one of the couches in the parlor.”

“Dude, you need room for your wings.” Dean frowns, suddenly unsure. “Don’t you?”

“I sleep on my side, usually. The wings hang off the bed.”

“Oh.” He takes a seat next to Castiel, who becomes all too aware of where their thighs brush against each other. “Um. I’m fine with it, if you are. I just didn’t want to force you—”

“You’re very considerate.” He instinctively rests a hand on Dean’s thigh. A minute later, once he’s realized what he’d done, he snatches it away. “How familiar are you with Crowley?”

Dean’s face reddens. “A little too much. He’s shady, but compared to some, he’s tame. I mean, he’s one of the only demons I know of who’s argued for peace with Heaven.”

“Really?” Castiel has never heard of a demon desiring an end to the war.

“Yeah. Apparently he was even close once, about twenty years before I was born. But Lucifer didn’t like the terms.”

“If his opinions clash with Lucifer’s, how did he obtain such a high position?”

“Dunno really. But he’s too influential for Lucifer to eliminate outright without risking a rebellion. So he mostly leaves Crowley alone in exchange for his continued loyalty.”

“I wonder why he wanted peace.”

“Imagine the war’s over. Imagine how many more resources that’d open up.”

What if Heaven and Hell did reach a rapprochement? Castiel’s not sure he can fully comprehend the possibility.

xxxxxxxxxx

_In one of their last classes, the students had to write an essay in which they proposed ideas about how to end the war with Hell. Of course, along with the question came the implication of obliterating Hell. But Castiel had a different idea._

_What if, rather than killing every single demon, they signed a peace treaty? It could save many lives, and once they saw the advantages, wouldn’t demons want to preserve their species as well?_

_Their teacher, Naomi, returned their essays on the last day of class. Castiel, however, didn’t receive his. Instead, Naomi directed him to stay after class._

_She handed the essay back to Castiel; it bore a big red zero at the top. “You’ll need to redo this, Castiel.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Your plan is not acceptable.”_

_“It can work.—”_

_“No. Demons are evil, Castiel. We can’t just let them live.”_

_Yes, demons were evil, but if they stayed in Hell, maybe leaving them alone was all right. They didn’t know how to get to Heaven, so if angels stopped going . . ._

_Naomi shook her head at the explanation. “I’ve always known you have a crack in your chassis, but this is something else.” She sighed. “You need re-education.”_

_“Re-education?” Castiel echoed faintly. He’d heard horror stories about re-education, but as far as he knew, no one had ever actually been sent._

_A bright white flash._

_Agony. Every cell in his body hurt. His wings were shredded, and it felt like his head had been sliced in half. Naomi coolly gazed down at him._

_“What’s your answer?”Castiel mumbled something, but it must’ve not been what she was looking for. She stuck an angel blade deep into his wing and twisted._

_A bright white flash._

_Naomi smiled down at him, triumphant. “Very good, Castiel. Now. You won’t remember anything other than the contents of this lesson.”_

_When he started specialty training, he was the most orthodox angel some of his instructors had ever seen. They said so._

“Cas, Cas—” Someone’s shaking his shoulders.

Castiel blinks. This isn’t Heaven. _Cas_. He registers the nickname and remembers.

“Dean?” he slurs.

Dean stills. “You were whimpering in your sleep.”

“Oh.”

“Nightmare?”

“Memory. I think.” Even now, he can’t fully recall the re-education sessions, but he knows his subconscious had revealed the truth to him. Naomi had done— _something_ —to him until he held opinions Heaven dubbed acceptable. Then his memory had been wiped.

“You think? What does that mean?”

Castiel nestles his head on the pillow, facing Dean, whose eyes are completely focused on him. He doesn’t know whether they’re green or black at the moment, but he’d bet on the former.

“It’s something they did to me. Then made me forget.”

Dean wrinkles his brow. “What do you mean?”

Castiel swallows. “I didn’t remember this essay from school until I dreamed about it. I still don’t, not really. But I think it’s not just a dream—that it actually happened.” Dean nods. “In it, I proposed peace with Hell. So the teacher—she re-educated me.”

“Re-educated?”

“I don’t know exactly. But it was horrible. They tore me apart. My wings . . . and they drilled me with these lessons. About what I was supposed to think.”

Dean rubs a soothing hand along Castiel’s shoulder. “That’s fucked up.”

Dean’s hand migrates to the top of Castiel’s wing, and he leans into the touch before he can process the movement. Once he comprehends what he’s done, he wonders if he should pull away. But it feels so nice. He wonders if Dean saw what occurred with Naomi, like the visions Castiel experienced of Alastair, so he asks.

“No. I just . . . I sensed your distress, and I woke up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Dissent is not tolerated in Heaven,” Castiel muses. “I don’t remember . . . I never realized that I’d dared to express it myself. I was the best pupil. That’s what I remember. And everyone else does, too.”

“So they messed with a lot of memories. How can they do that?”

“I don’t know their secrets. It must be related to the Sovereign Service.”

“The Sovereign Service? I’ve never heard of that.”

“They’re Michael’s personal division. Their work is kept secret. So much so that its members stay segregated from everyone else.” Castiel frowns. That can’t be right. Not if Naomi, his instructor, had access to their tools. Maybe they have clandestine liaisons in the other professions.

“Oh.” He wraps an arm around Castiel’s back and brushes his fingertips over Castiel’s feathers. “C’mere.” Castiel scoots closer, and Dean’s grip tightens. In the comfort of Dean’s embrace, Castiel drifts off.

xxxxxxxxxx

 _Whimpering_ didn’t cover it. Dean had been jolted awake by a bone-curdling shriek. It took him a minute to realize it was coming from Cas. The sound frightened Dean. He knew Cas was a badass, and if he was _that_ terrified . . . whatever he’d been dreaming, it must’ve been horrific.

And it was. Beside him, Cas’s body gradually relaxes.

Dean contemplates what Cas had told him.

Demons are supposed to be the evil ones, while angels are good. That’s what humans believe, anyway. And the structure of the world reflects that ideology, how virtuous human souls go to Heaven when they die and wicked ones go to Heaven. Or, if they’re redeemable, they stay in Hell until they’re cleansed. So demons were taught to embrace the taint inside them. He understands why Mom wouldn’t want that for her children.

But angels, they sound worse than demons. At least demons are upfront. What you see is what you get. But angels . . . hearing what they’d done to Cas, their so-called purity seems like a lie. If they’d torture people to indoctrinate them, to keep them from thinking differently than others . . . that can’t be “righteous.”

He likes the feel of Cas’s body against his. It lulls him back to sleep.


	7. Chapter Six

When Dean wakes up, Cas’s already awake, leaning on his elbow and studying him. Dean starts. “Okay. That’s not creepy _at all_.”

Cas squints in confusion and tilts his head, and it’s absolutely not a little adorable. “What?”

“Just . . . don’t stare at people in their sleep, okay?”

“Oh. Yes. All right.” Cas shifts his gaze away.

Someone brings in a plate of fruit, cheese, bread, and water and places it on the end table beside Dean. After the man leaves, Dean picks up an apple and takes a large bite. The juice drips down his lips and chin; he notices Cas watching the motion. What’s he supposed to make of that? “Man, this is good,” Dean comments. “Too bad you don’t eat.”

“Why?”

“’Cause. Food is delicious.” He’d even argue it’s one of life’s greatest pleasures. There’s nothing “good” or “bad” about it; it just is.

“You do make it look enjoyable,” Cas admits. “But it doesn’t agree with my constitution.”

“Which is a damn shame.”

About an hour later, the person from earlier returns to retrieve the empty dishes. “Wonder how long we’ll have to wait for Crowley to come by,” Dean remarks.

Apparently, not that long. Scarcely ten minutes later, they hear footsteps thundering down the hallway. They both hop off the bed when the doorknob starts to turn.

But rather than Crowley, it’s Sam, hair disheveled, clothes speckled with dirt. He clutches the grimoire like it’s all that’s grounding him.

“Sammy?” Dean utters. “What happened? How’d you know where to find us?”

“Long story,” Sam manages. He tosses the grimoire to Cas, who begins flipping through it, then focuses on Dean. “Dad’s dead, Dean.”

“What?” Dean gasps.

“Yeah. And they almost got me, too.”

Cas glances up. “Condolences,” he offers before returning to the grimoire, his lips moving as if he’s sounding out words.

“What happened?” Dean asks Sam again.

“When you and Cas escaped, someone saw you in the sky. Apparently, Lucifer’d had his suspicions about whether you’d really killed Cas, and . . . ”

“And what?”

Sam swallows, and his eyes water. “They came to our house last night, before I got home. Alastair was with them, Dean.” Dean feels the blood drain from his face. “They tortured Dad for intel about you, Cas, and the grimoire. He was loyal to the very end, Dean.” Sam sniffles. “He didn’t give up anything.”

“It’s not like he had anything to give up,” Dean mutters. Dad had been prepared to _kill him_ over Cas. His heart aches at the news of Dad’s death, but the look on Dad’s face when he’d discovered Cas . . . it still makes Dean shiver.

“Maybe not, but he denied everything, Dean. He said you were loyal, that reports of you hiding an angel were untrue. And he’d know, wouldn’t he? Or so he’d argued. He died defending your reputation.”

“How do you know? Did they torture you, too?” Other than his harried state, Sam seems fine.

“No. Ruby was there when I came home, and Dad was already . . . gone. Ruby cast an immobilizing spell and told me to run. She insisted I bring the grimoire with me.”

Dean bristles. “So, she could save you and not Dad?”

“She seemed sorry. She cast a memory spell on the other demons so they wouldn’t know I’d been there. She said they’d be too suspicious if both Dad and I disappeared.”

What a stupid excuse. Still, Ruby had saved Sam . . . he has to be grateful for that.

Now the tears finally fall, and Dean can’t stifle a sob.

“This isn’t a grimoire,” Cas blurts out.

Dean could just slap him. “No one cares, Cas.”

But apparently, Sam is. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not an expert in ancient Enochian dialects, so I can’t read a lot of it. But it seems like . . . it’s a history of the split between Michael and Lucifer.”

“Oh.” Now he sounds disinterested. “Guess everyone’s after it for no reason, then.”

Cas looks up, eyes wide. “Not for no reason. This is . . . if I’m interpreting correctly, and I’m not sure I am . . . it didn’t happen the way we think it did.”

“How do we ‘think it happened.’?” Dean hurls. Maybe they’re taught something different in Heaven. But who cares, anyway? Dad’s _dead_ , and Cas wants to yak about ancient history?

“Lucifer rebelled against Michael in Heaven,” Cas huffs, like he’s being forced to state the obvious. “So he and the other dissenters founded Hell.”

“Sounds about right,” Sam agrees.

“But what this is alleging . . . it says that the separation was mutual. That both Heaven and Hell already existed, and they agreed to rule one realm each.”

“So it’s wrong, big deal,” Dean spouts.

“But it says it was written by Joshua.”

“So?”

“Joshua serves as the Head Gardener, and as such, he’s revered.”

Dean snorts. “Really, Cas? A _gardener’s_ such a big deal?”

“It’s an important function in Heaven,” Cas explains, barely restrained impatience in his voice. “Our gardens . . . they’re holy. Not only that, but Joshua’s one of the oldest angels in Heaven. He’s been around almost as long as Michael himself.”

“Maybe he didn’t really write it?” Sam suggests.

Cas considers the matter for a second before shaking his head. “No. I think there must be some truth to it. If not, then why are both Heaven and Hell so eager to obtain it?”

“I dunno about Heaven, but down here, we think it’s a grimoire,” Sam answers.

“That’s what _you’ve been told_. It’s what I was told as well.”

“If Lucifer knows what it is and wants to hide it, then why’d he have it sent to the university for translation?”

“Maybe he didn’t know what it is,” Dean theorizes. “He just wanted to know why Heaven was after it. And once you’d translated it, you and whoever else worked on the project would’ve had an ‘accident’ . . . ”

Sam pales. “He’d really do that? Kill us?”

Dean scoffs. “’Course he would. He’s friggin’ _Lucifer_. He puts people to death just for annoying him.” Dean shudders at the memories of the executions he’s attended. He hates them, but he also has a healthy regard for self-preservation. Besides, he’s a _demon_. He’s supposed to be evil. Might as well embrace it.

“Hello, boys,” Crowley sibilates from the doorway. All three of them jump at the sound. “I think it’s time I let you in on a little secret.”

“Not a good time, Crowley,” Dean bites out.

“Oh, now is the _perfect_ time.”

“Fine. What is it?”

“Follow me.”

Crowley leads them past the entrance to his office until they reach the other end of the hallway. He waves at the door, which is cracked open a sliver. “After you, boys.” Dean pushes open the door, enters, and—

On the other side of the room, one leg crossed over the other, someone familiar.

“Mom?” He stops in his tracks, and Sam and Cas bump into him.

“Dean, would you please move out of the way?” Cas gripes.

Dean rolls his eyes but takes a couple steps forward.

“Mom?” Sam echoes now that he finally sees who else inhabits the room.

“What . . . you’re dead,” Dean breathes.

“It’s a long story,” Mom replies.

Dean doesn’t care what the damn story is. Ever since he was ten, he’s believed that Mom was dead. Sam lost her at the tender age of six, and Dad . . . he remembers the early days of her absence, when Dad couldn’t sleep until he drank himself into a stupor. And she’s been alive all this time? Doing what, hanging out with Crowley?

Mom leaves the sofa and throws her arms around Sam, who accepts the embrace. She attempts to do the same with Dean, but Dean flinches back, and Mom sighs. At least she has the grace to look ashamed.

“I believe you have some catching up to do,” Crowley rasps behind them. “I’ll leave you alone.” Dean barely registers Crowley’s retreating footsteps.

“I suppose I should leave as well,” Cas announces.

But before Cas can move, Dean snatches at his wrist. “Stay.” He can’t handle being alone with Sam and Mom right now. It’s too much.

Cas opens his mouth, no doubt to object, but when his eyes meet Dean’s, he freezes. “All right.” His fingers brush Dean’s wrist, and their hands naturally slide into a solid clasp. He squeezes Dean’s hand, and his eyes fill with sympathy.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel doesn’t belong here. The Winchester brothers have just learned their father is dead, and that their mother, long presumed dead, is alive. Given that he grew up without parents, he can’t fully comprehend the situation. But he does observe the emotions written across the Winchesters’ faces, especially Dean’s. They flicker lightning fast—surprise, joy, anger, despair, wrath, melancholy, determination.

He knows he should retreat, but when his hand slots into Dean’s, he realizes how much strength Dean draws from his presence.

Mrs. Winchester turns to Castiel and offers a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Mary.”

“Castiel. Nice to meet you.” Castiel shakes the proffered hand. Why is she introducing herself to him right now? Shouldn’t she be explaining things to her sons?

“You’re an angel.”

Dean snorts. “You’re observant.”

“What are you doing here with Dean and Sam?”

Castiel feels uneasy. “Shouldn’t you ask Dean himself?”

“Perhaps.” Her expression flashes with guilt. She turns her attention back to Dean, mouth pursed as if to speak.

But before she can, Dean declares, “Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s my soulmate.”

Mary’s eyes widen with shock. “But that’s not possible. He’s an angel.”

“Oh, your dear friend Crowley didn’t tell you?” Mary flushes. “What’ve you been doing the past fifteen years, shacking up with Crowley?”

“It’s not like that.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Really? Then what’s it like?” Mary’s eyes flit to Sam, who mirrors Dean’s resolute expression. She gestures at the three sofas lining the walls. “I’ll explain. Please sit.”

“I don’t wanna sit,” Dean sulks. Nevertheless, Mary retreats to the center couch, and Sam takes a seat on the one to her right. Dean just glares at them.

“Perhaps we should at least listen,” Castiel suggests in Dean’s ear.

“Fine,” Dean snaps. He perches on the couch to Mary’s left, and Castiel joins him.

Mary’s eyes search the ceiling. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“How about the part where you faked your own death?”

“That wasn’t faked.”

“Cut the crap.”

“Dean’s right,” Sam cuts in.

Mary smiles morosely. “I guess I should start there, then. I did really die.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she releases a frustrated sigh. “It was the stupidest thing. I was just walking home from work, and I got hit by a stray bullet.”

Dean ignores him. “That’s bullshit, Mom. We would’ve heard if that were it.”

“Not if whoever was responsible had friends in high places.”

“If you got hit, you must’ve been near the torturing grounds. What were you doing there?”

“Conveying a message from John.”

“I don’t buy it. If you died, then how’re you here?”

“I went to Heaven.”

“What?”

“That makes no sense,” Sam inserts.

“It could,” Castiel interjects. The heads of the other three whip toward him. “When a human resident of Heaven or Hell dies, do you know what happens?”

“What?” Sam asks.

“They go to one of the allocated places for dead human souls. Good ones are sent to Heaven, bad ones to Hell. Even if they’ve been living in the other place.”

“I’m sorry, what? I can’t wrap my head around what you just said,” Dean replies.

“If your mother was righteous, she would go to Heaven when she died.”

“Then how’d she wind up back here?”

“I’ll tell you if you let me continue,” Mary retorts.

“Go on,” Sam urges.

“Once I was in Heaven, an angel came to visit me. Said her name was Anna Milton.”

“Anael?!” Castiel exclaims. Anael was one of Heaven’s most accomplished warriors, but she’d loved humans so much that she’d wished she could be one. Her soulmate had been human, and she’d taken his surname as her own and humanized her angelic one.

“You know her?” Mary inquires.

Castiel nods. “I knew of her. She sometimes taught combat lessons, and she was a legendary warrior.”

“Was?” Sam ventures.

“She died five years ago. I don’t know how. Her mission was secret.”

“She died because Michael discovered what she was up to.”

“What’s that?” Sam asks.

“She was part of the rebellion.”

“There’ in no rebellion,” Castiel asserts reflexively. There’ve long been rumors that an underground association of insurgents exists in Heaven, but no one’s ever actually proven their presence.

“There is. Anna recruited me.”

“Why would a random angel want you to join a rebellion?” Dean scoffs.

“She knew I’d been married to John.”

“And?”

“The rebellion’s not just in Heaven. It’s in Hell, too. They coordinate with each other. We just want the war to end on amicable terms. Michael and Lucifer are intent on wiping out each other’s realms; they don’t care who dies in the crossfire. And we do.”

“Dad knows about this?” Dean intones, soft yet dangerous. He drops Castiel’s hand.

“I did it for you boys. I knew you were still down here . . . ” She swipes at her eyes. “And I couldn’t just lay around in Heaven knowing you two were under constant threat.”

“Dad knows,” Dean seethes. “Knew.”

“I came back to talk to him. He refused to join us. Said his allegiance was to Lucifer and he couldn’t betray everything he’d dedicated his life to.” Her lower lip trembles. “He agreed not to tell Lucifer what I’d revealed only if I promised never to talk to you again.” She sniffles. “He didn’t want me to draw you into it.”

“He _fucking knew_ ,” Dean fumes. He balls his hand into a fist and punches the wall. Castiel jumps. “ _Fuck!_ ” he shouts, his eyes black and furious as he storms out of the room.

“Dean!” Sam calls, but to no avail.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel tells Mary. “Even if what you say is true, why are you here now?”

“Seeing my boys isn’t enough?” Castiel narrows his eyes, and Mary sighs. “Okay, so there’s more to it than that. I’ve been acting as a courier between the rebels of Heaven and Hell. I’m less conspicuous here than an angel would be. In Hell, Crowley is my point of contact.” Her countenance softens. “But I really did stay for my boys.” She turns to Sam. “I am sorry about what happened to John, Sam. Truly. I never stopped loving him.” Sam averts his eyes and nods.

“But how’ve you been coming here without a gatekeeper?”

“We have a gatekeeper on our side.”  As if on cue, a familiar angel strolls in.

“ _Inias_?” Castiel gasps. Indignation shortly follows his surprise. How much of their conversation had Inias overheard?

Inias does a double take. “Castiel? I thought you were dead.”

Inias is here. Inias . . . he studied languages as his secondary specialty. Perhaps he could translate the “grimoire.” He’s part of the rebellion, and maybe it could help . . .

The rebellion. They just want all the bloodshed to be over, like Castiel had before re-education. It’s an admirable goal. But can Inias be trusted?

Suddenly, it’s all too much. He feels light-headed, like the world is spinning around him. And he wants to check on Dean.

“Excuse me,” he manages before stumbling out of the room.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean can’t believe this shit. Mom had visited Hell after she’d died, talked to Dad, yet Dad had never breathed a word.

Is that why he’d blamed angels for her death? But if Mom was telling the truth, an angel hadn’t killed her. Although who knows why the bullet had gone astray. Maybe an angel had attacked the torture grounds or something—?

And what, had Mom not cared enough about them to ignore Dad’s injunction?

“Fuck!” he yells, aiming his fist at the wall. Rage consumes him, and he beats the wall until his knuckles are numb.

“Dean!” someone cries. He clamps his hands over Dean’s fists, arresting their motion. His eyes swarm with sudden tears, so he can’t make out who it is, but he spots the faint outline of wings.—An angel, then. Cas.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas sighs as he uncovers the knuckles, which are littered with nicks and cuts. With the edge of his trench coat sleeve, he wipes off the faint traces of blood.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Dean warns quietly.

Cas’s eyes, so earnest, meet his. “Why not?”

“Now it’s dirty.” _Dirty like me_. What kind of fucked up universe is this, anyway? To give Cas a soulmate like him.

“You’re not dirty, Dean.”

“Huh?” Had Dean said that aloud?

“I’m sorry. Everything must be so overwhelming right now.”

Dean snorts. “Understatement of the year.”

He massages Dean’s damaged knuckles. “I’m sorry,” Cas repeats. “You lost your father. I can’t imagine how that must feel. And now you’re a fugitive—because of me.”

“Not to mention my dead mom’s been traveling between Heaven and Hell for _years_ without even dropping by.”

“She wanted to protect you.”

“Hmm. Not an excuse.”

“Perhaps not.”

He’s overcome by emotion again, but it’s all a mixed-up jumble. Anger, despair, grief, fear, loneliness—he collapses into Cas’s arms. He buries his face in the nape of Cas’s neck, and its scent comforts him.

“Shh. It’ll be all right,” Cas whispers into his ear. “Let it out.” He pecks Dean on the temple. “I’ve got you.” His lips brush against Dean’s cheekbone.

Dean looks up, and he’s immediately entranced. Cas’s wings are fully outstretched, as if to protect himself and Dean from the world around them, eyes radiating soft pure blue light, brown hair artlessly tousled, expression solemn but reassuring.—

It feels like his soul’s straining to break free and meld with the angel’s before him. It burns, and he can do nothing but give in.

He tightly clutches Cas’s shoulders and smashes his lips against Cas’s. He flips them around so Cas is pinned against the wall, and he takes and takes, but still his thirst is unquenchable.

He briefly pries off his lips to catch a breath and observes the change in Cas’s eyes. The blue light they emit has grown much more intense, brightening up the room like the crackle of lightning.

He dives back in for more. This time, Cas’s mouth matches Dean’s violent pace, and it’s _perfect._

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel’s too stunned to move when Dean presses him against the wall and plants his lips on his. But when Dean pulls back to breathe, Castiel craves more. Dean’s soul is so radiant, almost blinding him with its intensity, like when they’d first met. He’d done that to Dean’s soul. It feels like his own soul’s bursting to break its chains and forge with Dean’s. He can’t resist. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. The meeting of their lips had been the most divine thing he’s ever experienced, even more than ingesting manna.

Dean’s eyes are wide and black, but rather than feeling repulsed by the marker of demonhood, Castiel’s magnetized.

Castiel darts forward, meeting Dean halfway. He nips on Dean’s bottom lip, and Dean moans. Dean’s tongue invades his mouth, tangling with his. Castiel surrenders himself to bodily instinct, his hips grinding against Dean’s, seeking what friction he can between the fabric. A breathy sigh escapes his mouth, and his dick aches for more. He’s never actually felt the urge to do this before, to satiate his body in this fashion.

One of Dean’s hands buries itself in a wing and pinches the scapular. Castiel hisses, and the pleasure rushes to his groin.—

“Dean, stop,” Castiel pants. But his hips contradict his words, and Dean only speeds up his ministrations. “Dean. This isn’t a good idea right now,” he manages.

“Cas, please, I—”

Castiel gently pushes Dean back and regrets the loss of contact. But it’s all so fast, not to mention someone could come in at any moment. He examines Dean’s swollen lips, his flushed cheeks, thinks about how much he’d drowned in Dean. “Wow,” he exhales.

Dean rolls his eyes but then, without a trace of irony, sighs, “Yeah. Wow is right.” More loudly, he asks, “Why’d we stop?”

“I don’t want to rush. Plus, Sam and Mary are still out there. As is Inias.”

“Inias? Who’s Inias?”

“An angel. The Head Gatekeeper. He’s here, he’s part of the rebellion, and I don’t know what that means, or what to do, or what we _can_ even do.—”

xxxxxxxxxx

Cas is babbling, growing more hysterical with each word. In the whirlwind of the past couple hours, he’d forgotten that right now everything’s just as much a clusterfuck for Cas as it is for him.

Cas practically vibrates with tension. When Dean places a hand on Cas’s bicep, Cas stills. “Cas, you all right?” he ventures.

Cas runs a hand through his hair, so mussed up now that, combined with his intensely lit eyes and fully extended wings, it makes him looks wild, almost feral.

That’s when he knows he’d follow this magnificent creature anywhere.

He’s fallen, and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“I don’t know,” Cas admits.

“First off, who’s Inias?”

Cas’s brow furrows. “I told you.” _Yeah, but you were going too fast for me to catch it._ “The Head Gatekeeper in Heaven.”

‘What’s he got to do with this?”

“He allows Mary access between Heaven and Hell so both sides of the rebellion can communicate.”

“The rebellion that wants to overthrow Michael and Lucifer.”

“Yes. To bring peace.”

Would that even work? Toppling Lucifer sounds impossible. Even if he no longer possesses his wings, he’s still an angel deep down, a fierce and amoral one. Considering he’s one of the most powerful angels who’s ever existed, he’s dangerous, and that’s putting it mildly.

An end to the war between Heaven and Hell? He can’t even comprehend it.

“Is Crowley part of it?”

“Yes.”

“No surprise there,” he mutters. Crowley’s been chafing for independence from Lucifer since before Dean was born.

An awkward silence ensues until Cas tentatively mentions, “I think the rebellion can work, and we have the key.”

“Say what now?”

“The ‘grimoire.’” He actually uses air quotes. What a dork. “If it really is a history of the formation of Heaven and Hell, if I was interpreting it correctly . . . and maybe I wasn’t, but still, if I was . . . it might prove that Michael and Lucifer have always been colluding with each other. That they’ve been sending angels and demons to their deaths even though there’s no dispute between them.”

“Why would they do that?”

Cas shrugs. “It could be in the book. I wonder . . . I need your advice, Dean.”

“My advice?” Why the fuck would Dean know what to do?

“Yes. Inias might be able to interpret the text. Should we ask him to try?”

“Uh. Sure, why not?”

Cas picks up the tome and announces, “Then I must talk to him before he leaves.” He strides out of the room, and Dean follows.  

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel’s surprised to hear Dean’s footsteps behind him. He’d thought that Dean might desire more time to decompress. It’s comforting, knowing that Dean’s by his side. When he barges into the parlor, he interrupts whatever discussion is transpiring. “Inias. I must speak with you.”

“What is it, Castiel?” Inias asks, not bothering to mask his irritation.

Castiel approaches him and thrusts the book forward. “Can you read this?”

Inias accepts the book and flips through it. “Yes. It’s an ancient dialect of Enochian. I’m not fluent, but I believe I could translate it. Why?”

“How much proof do you have that Lucifer and Michael are on friendly terms?”

Inias’s expression grows rueful. “Uriel’s the final piece.”

“What?” Castiel’s mouth goes dry. He thinks he understands what Inias means, but it can’t be . . .

“I’m sorry, Castiel. When we discovered that Uriel pays visits to Lucifer, we theorized that he was acting as a go-between between him and Michael. That, along with some other evidence we’d acquired, led us to believe that Michael meant for your contingent to die in order to prolong the war. It’s orchestrated, just like the battles. It keeps the animosity between angels and demons strong, which fuels the war, which allows Michael and Lucifer to rule unchallenged.”

For a second, Castiel almost can’t process the words. Inias had just admitted to knowing Castiel and the others would die, and that he’d done nothing to stop it.

“We knew your deaths would prove us right,” Inias continues.

“You knew Cas would probably die, and you just let that happen?!” Dean fumes.

Inias eyes Dean with disdain. “What business is it of yours, demon?” he spouts.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Got a problem? I thought angels and demons were in the rebellion together.”

Castiel places his hand on Dean’s arm to quiet him. “Dean is a friend,” he declares softly. What Inias had confessed . . . it hurts, but he tries to put that aside. Dwelling on it won’t help. “How did Uriel travel surreptitiously between Heaven and Hell? Did you assist him?”

“No. We suspect it was the Sovereign Service. Michael’s personal contingent. There are souls who do penance in Hell for a set amount of time before being transported to Heaven. The Sovereign Service takes care of that.”

Dean raises his eyebrows as if to say, _told you so_. “There are humans who go to Heaven after being punished in Hell,” Castiel repeats. Inias nods. “Why were we never taught about it?”

“According to the propaganda, Heaven and Hell are diametrically opposed. If, after they die, humans can go to both Heaven and Hell, it blurs the lines.”

“Ah.” Castiel snatches the book from Inias. “This history. It says it was written by Joshua, and it . . . I think it confirms what you have told us. That Michael and Lucifer are on cordial terms.”

Inias’s eyes widen. “I can ask Joshua if he’s ever composed something like that. It’d be dangerous, though. I don’t know how he feels about the rebellion. If you let me take the book, I’m sure I can translate it.”

“I don’t know.” He eyes the Winchester brothers. “Let me consult with Dean and Sam.”

“You’d trust _demons_ over me?”

Castiel glares at Inias. “You have no right to protest. You sent me to my death.”

Mary addresses Inias, but Castiel ignores them. He, Dean, and Sam huddle together.

“I don’t think we should give Inias the book,” Castiel asserts. “It’s the only copy we have, and if it’s as valuable as I think it is . . . He’s right. I don’t completely trust him.”

Dean appears amazed. “You trust us more than him?”

“Of course.”

“But we—I—kidnapped you.”

“Yes. On the other hand, you haven’t been dishonest with me.”

“I agree with you, Cas,” Sam contributes.

“Me, too,” Dean murmurs.

“Then he may translate it in our presence. Nowhere else,” Castiel proposes. The Winchesters nod.

“You and Dean are soulmates?!” Inias exclaims. Castiel turns back to him. “But you don’t have a soulmate . . . ”

“I lied.”

Inias gasps. “But that’s sacrilege, Castiel!”

“What do you think would’ve happened if I’d said my soulmate was a demon?”

Understanding creeps into Inias’s eyes. “Oh. I see.”

“Dean, Sam, and I have come to a decision. You may read the book as long as you’re here.”

“I can’t translate that whole thing here!” Castiel narrows his eyes at him. “If I’m missing from Heaven for too long, it’ll raise suspicion.”

“Very well.” Sam looks alarmed, but Castiel barrels on. “I will copy out the book, and you may take home the transcription.”

“That’ll take too long.”

“I don’t care. I’m not letting the history leave my sight.”

“Fine.” Inias stands up. “I need to go. Mary, are you coming?”

Mary glances at Sam and Dean. “I’d like to stay with my boys tonight.”

“All right. When you’re ready to return to Heaven, just use the pebble to summon me.” Mary nods.

After Inias brings Crowley back to the room, he leaves.

Castiel tells Crowley he needs a desk, paper, and pen, so Crowley escorts him to an office. Sam and Dean stay behind to talk with their mother.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel feverishly scribbles. It feels like he’s been doing this forever, but he hasn’t even put much of a dent in the book.

“Cas, maybe you should take a break.” Castiel jumps at the unexpected sound of Dean’s voice.

“I’m not finished,” Castiel mutters.

“I can take over for a while,” Sam chimes in. Castiel frowns. When had the Winchesters come into the room?

“I’m fine.”

A calloused hand cups Castiel’s cheek, and he leans into it. It feels nice, and his eyes slip closed.

“Dude, you need sleep,” Dean reiterates.

Castiel forces his eyes open. “Later. You should spend some time with your mother.”

“We’ve had hours, Cas. She’s asleep.”

Hmm. Do human souls sleep after they die, once they’re in Heaven or Hell? It’s not a question Castiel’s thought about. He’s never been in the part of Heaven housing human souls.

Dean’s index finger traces over Castiel’s cheekbone, and Castiel’s eyes droop again.

He glances up when he hears a loud noise. Sam had snatched up the book and pen. “It’s my turn, Cas,” Sam declares.

“Okay,” Castiel mumbles. It’s not worth fighting about. It seems his body’s intent on rest, and if Sam takes over for a while, at least some work will get done.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Dean wakes up, for a split second he forgets where he is. Definitely not his room. Something tickles his left forearm, and that’s when he remembers. He’s at Crowley’s, and he’s sleeping in a bed with Cas.

Cas, who he kissed, who for some damn reason trusts Dean now. His soulmate, who he doesn’t deserve. Just looking at him brings a sense of awe, and Dean’s just—well, Dean.

His arm is wrapped around Cas’s shoulders, and Dean takes a moment to relish the warmth of Castiel’s skin before opening his eyes.

One of Cas’s wings is draped over Dean’s torso, as if in protection. This close, the feathers are even more breathtaking than he recalls. The midnight black appendage almost shimmers in its glossiness.

Cas stirs, and his eyes slit open. “Is it morning?” he murmurs. Dean shrugs. Castiel removes his wing, to Dean’s disappointment, and props himself up on one elbow. “May I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” Dean replies.

“Are we a couple now?” His demeanor is so damn serious that Dean can’t help but chuckle. Cas deflates, and shit, he didn’t mean to do that.

“I don’t know. Are we?” Dean counters. _Way to go, Winchester. Like that’s gonna perk up his spirits_. Cas huddles into himself. “Of course we are,” Dean blurts before he can change his mind. His face heats up at the words. The rest tumbles so rapidly from his mouth that even he has difficulty following it. “Unless you don’t want to be.”

Cas smiles, his eyes dancing. “Then we are.” The words give Dean goose bumps. He nods because fuck yeah, he likes that. Cas leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. He grips Dean’s neck with one hand, massaging the tendons with an index finger. They exchange lazy kisses until breakfast arrives.


	8. Chapter Seven

They’ve reached an agreement with Crowley. Cas continues to produce a copy of the history book, and Mom visits every day to chat with her sons and take the fresh pages to Inias, who translates them. According to Inias, Joshua confirmed he wrote the book, but he refuses to discuss the matter further. He doesn’t wish to be involved; he just wants to tend the gardens. Dean, Sam, and Cas are staying with Crowley while the book’s being translated. Once it’s finished, they plan to distribute the contents in both Heaven and Hell. They hope that once denizens know the truth, then a negotiation for peace can begin.  

Dean and Cas take things slowly, savoring little touches and cuddles and gentle kisses. Dean would love to indulge in more rough kisses like their first, but he can’t complain about the leisurely pace. They’ll get to that eventually, and the anticipation makes everything sweeter. Besides, this is nice, too.

He should’ve known it was too good to last.

Late one night, he jerks awake. Unease settles into his bones. His eyes stray toward the doorway, which is open.

Framed in the entryway, a man Dean had hoped never to see again.

Alastair.

He presses a finger to his lips and grins, beckoning Dean with his other hand.

Dean glances at Cas, who appears sound asleep. He carefully extricates himself from underneath Cas’s wing, watching him all the while. Except for one sharp intake of breath, he doesn’t stir.

He follows Alastair outside. Shit, how had Alastair known where to find him? What does he want? What if he told Lucifer about Dean’s location?

Alastair finally stops in the middle of a clearing surrounded by trees.

“I would like to propose something to you, Dean,” Alastair begins.

Dean would like to scoff in reply, but as usual, when confronted by Alastair, his bravado deserts him. “What’s that?” he says instead.

“I can intercede with Lucifer on your account. All your sins can be forgiven.”

If Alastair means it, it’s a generous offer. He’d no longer be a fugitive. But what about Sam and Cas and the whole rebellion? He thinks the rebellion might actually have a chance if enough people learn about the material in Joshua’s book. That the whole damn war is pointless, that Michael and Lucifer are actually thick as thieves, that they encourage angels and demons to slaughter each other to keep their subjects in their place.

Lucifer’s not the type to forgive and forget anyway. Dean wants to tell Alastair to shove his offer where the sun don’t shine, but instead he asks, “What’s the catch?”

“You work for me. You were one of my most promising students, Dean. You missed your true calling.”

At the reminder, Dean freezes. Visions whirl in his mind. Flaying a man alive, taking his sweet little time, laughing in glee. Prying off a guy’s eyelids again and again, hundreds of times as they regrow after each removal, carving the eyes out of their sockets.

Dean’s hand clenches into a fist. The bloodlust calls to him. Strip him to the core, and that’s who he is, deep down. There’s a reason he’d been so damn good at it.

“Yes, Dean,” Alastair purrs. “I know you want to. You can even bring your pet angel.—”

“Leave Cas out of this!” Dean snaps.

“Fine, don’t bring him.”

He doesn’t deserve Cas. He’ll never be good enough for him; he’s evil, and he can’t help it. Much as Dean would like to deny it, Alastair’s right. Torture is his element.

Alastair steps forward and places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re like me, Dean. Always have been. You should’ve been my son. John could never appreciate you as much as I do.”

_No. Dad died for me, even if he didn’t agree with my actions. He knows the meaning of family. It’s something you’d never comprehend._

Dean shoves Alastair away. “No.”

Alastair looks taken aback. “What?”

“My answer’s no, Alastair.”

Alastair glares at him. “You’ll regret this, Winchester.”

Dean ignores him and dashes back into the building.

The bed is empty.

Fuck. Cas must’ve woken up after all.

“Cas!” Dean shouts as he prowls the hallway. Nothing.

Sam barrels out of the parlor, where he’s been sleeping on two sofas pulled together. “Dean, what’s going on?”

Dean rushes back outside. “Cas!” he yells. When he reaches the clearing where he’d met with Alastair, he finds Cas’s dagger lying in the grass. He picks it up. “Fuck, Cas,” he whispers, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “What’d you do?”

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel senses when Dean leaves the bed. Perhaps Dean needs to urinate. But when he squints at Dean’s retreating figure, he spots someone lingering in the doorway. He recognizes him.

Alastair.

Castiel’s blood boils with rage. He recalls Dean’s anguished memories.

He tiptoes a few feet behind Dean and Alastair. He hides himself behind a tree as he watches their exchange in the clearing, gripping his angel-blade with one hand and his dagger in the other. He notices the flickering emotions on Dean’s face, the paralysis that overtakes him as Alastair croons about missing his true calling.

 _No, Dean_. _Please don’t listen to him. That’s not you._

Eventually, Dean rebuffs Alastair, and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. As Dean passes by, Castiel suddenly sees colors. Red and black and orange. And he feels . . . a conflicted craving for violence, along with confusion, a bitter self-loathing . . .

Those are Dean’s emotions. And it’s Alastair’s fault.

He stalks toward Alastair, his blade raised. “You,” he snarls.

Alastair smirks. “Ah. It’s the angel.”

“You vile, loathsome, piece of shit—”

Alastair’s grin widens. “That the best you got?”

He thinks about how much Alastair damaged Dean, and he hates Alastair with an all-consuming white-hot intensity. He can’t control it. “I will kill you.”

Alastair chortles. “You try that, sweetheart. You think I was dumb enough to come here alone?”

Demons surge out from behind the trees. Castiel plunges the blade into Alastair’s heart. “You think that matters?” he retorts.

There are only five demons. He can take them. He cuts down the first two with ease, but then someone clamps a rag around his mouth and nose.

 _Dammit. It’s chloroform_.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Castiel wakes up, it’s pitch dark. It takes a while for his eyes to adjust, but when they do, he’s overcome by fear.

He’s in a cell. It’s cold, which means he’s underground.

He’s in Lucifer’s dungeons.

And no one knows.

Dean will be frantically looking for him.

He shouldn’t. The risk is too great.

Dean needs to stay far, far away.

An idea occurs to him. He and Dean have a . . . . more profound connection than normal soulmates. Is it because he’s an angel and Dean is a demon? He doesn’t know, but that’s not important right now.

Can he somehow project his consciousness to Dean? Just so Dean knows where he is, so he doesn’t waste time looking for Castiel? They need to stay on course with the book.

He leans back against the wall, closes his eyes, and concentrates. He holds an image of the dungeon in his mind and mentally calls Dean’s name.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean nervously perches on the edge of one couch while Sam sprawls on the other two, shoved together.

“I think he must’ve followed me outside then fought with Alastair,” Dean babbles.

“What were you even doing talking to Alastair?” Sam asks.

“Later, Sammy. We’ve gotta find Cas.”

“Do you think he killed Cas?”

Dean vehemently shakes his head. No. Cas isn’t dead. He refuses to believe that.

Suddenly, his head feels . . . strange. A hazy picture forms in his mind, something dark and dank. Then he sees blue light emanating from a pair of familiar eyes, a man slumped against a wall, shadows flanking him. Not shadows. _Wings_.

“Cas?” Dean marvels.

Sam frowns at him. “Dean. You all right?”

“Shut up, Sammy,” he mutters. Maybe if he closes his eyes, the picture will come into focus.

He lies back on the sofa and shuts his eyes. He was right. Now he can more clearly make out the room Cas is in.

_Cas? That you, or am I going crazy?_

_If you’re going crazy, then so am I_. Even though he hears Cas’s voice, his lips don’t move.

_How’re you doing this?_

_I don’t know. But I needed to speak to you, and I was desperate._

_Where the fuck are you?_

_I killed Alastair, Dean._

_What?_

_He’s a despicable son of a bitch. What he did to you, Dean—_

He’s never heard Cas sound so irate. It warms him a little, knowing Cas cares so deeply about him.

_Cas, that was dumb.—_

_I know, Dean. I know. But I . . . I wish I could hurt him more._

A lump forms in his throat. _Cas—_

_It doesn’t matter. I just need you to know. Some of Alastair’s henchmen were there, and they dosed me with chloroform. Now I’m in this . . . dungeon._

_Dungeon, Cas? What dungeon?_ But Dean already knows. It’s a place no one ever comes back from. At the realization, his veins run cold.

_Don’t come after me, Dean. Preserve yourself. And Sam._

_Cas—_

_And the book. With the rebellion . . . the chance at peace is the most important thing. Forget about me._

_Cas, no—_

Cas’s eyes list to the side. They widen with terror, and the image dissolves.

When Dean opens his eyes, Sam’s standing in the doorway next to a glaring Crowley.

“So Alastair was here. Why didn’t you tell me sooner, you nitwit?” Crowley spits.

Dean sits up. “Cas is in Lucifer’s dungeon. We’ve gotta get him out.”

“We’ve gotta get ourselves out, you moron! Our cover is blown!”

“Crowley’s right,” Sam puts in. Dean notices Joshua’s book tucked underneath his armpit.

“But Cas—”

“We’re no use to Cas if Lucifer apprehends us, too!”

Fair point.

“I’ve got some safe houses underground,” Crowley explains. He heads toward the secret entrance by his office, and Dean and Sam follow. Dean flings open the trap door and climbs down the ladder. Once Dean and Sam are underground, Crowley uses a spell to permanently seal the door shut.

“How’s Mom gonna find us?” Sam inquires as they trudge behind Crowley, who’d conjured a small light with a spell. Dean’s never seen Crowley use magic before. He’d heard that Crowley’s mother had been a witch, but he’d never believed the rumors.

“She knows about my other bases,” Crowley answers.

They continue the trek in silence. Eventually, they stop, and Crowley lights two sconces lining the walls beside them. The brighter light illuminates a parlor complete with two couches and a coffee table between them. Behind this room, on each side, three steps lead into a bedroom. Crowley assigns one to Sam and the other to Dean. He mentions that, about a hundred feet forward, there’s a study with an attached bedroom, which is where he’ll stay.

A searing pain suddenly rends Dean’s head in two.

“Fuck!” he screeches, clutching his head with both hands.

“What’s the matter with you?” Crowley snips.

“Dean? Dean, are you all right?” Sam asks.

“No,” Dean groans. It feels like someone’s pounding his head with a hammer. He collapses on the couch beside him.

“They’re doing something to Cas,” Dean pants between the blows on his head.

“What?” Crowley asks.

“He feels everything Cas does,” Sam explains.

“That’s not normal.”

“You think?” Dean manages.

“I think it’s because they’re soulmates,” Sam continues.

“No other soulmates on record have ever experienced such a phenomenon.”

“But there’s never been another demon-angel pairing, has there?”

“No.”

“So we know nothing about how a soulmate bond like theirs operates.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean screeches. A vise is squeezing his damn forehead, and a deafening ringing roars in his ears.

It takes for-damn-ever, but it eventually passes.

“We’ve gotta get Cas outta Lucifer’s dungeon,” Dean asserts, his voice straining with every word.

“That’s a lost cause,” Crowley declares. Sam looks like he might agree, and _don’t you fucking dare_.

“Sam!” Dean coughs. He gathers his strength before finishing the statement. “You see. If Cas feels it, so do I. If he dies, whaddaya think happens to me?” Maybe that’ll convince Sammy they need to rescue Cas.

Sam pales. “Shit. You’re right.”

Crowley shrugs. “Guess we’ll just have to write you both off as a loss.” Sam scowls at him, and he sighs. “Fine. It’s suicide, but I’ll do what I can.”


	9. Chapter Eight

Castiel can’t believe it, but he’d actually been able to contact Dean telepathically. In the midst of their communication, Castiel hears footsteps approaching from the hallway.

“So this is the infamous Castiel,” an ominous voice rumbles. Castiel’s eyes fly open, cutting the connection with Dean.

Castiel recognizes him. He’s been well-acquainted with images of the man since early childhood.

Lucifer.

He lounges inside the cell, reclining against the latticed bars, his pale blonde hair perfectly styled, his light blue eyes cold and empty.

Lucifer tilts his head to the side. “I wonder what’s so special about you,” he mulls. “How did you turn one of my most skilled soldiers into a traitor?” Castiel sneers. He may be quivering with fear on the inside, but he won’t let Lucifer know that. “Wipe that smirk off your face,” Lucifer hisses. A blow lands on Castiel’s head. The pain reverberates all through his head, obliterating his sense of everything else around him. Everything but Lucifer, who smiles with sheer delight. He holds nothing in his hands.

“How did you—?” Castiel grits out.

Lucifer chortles. “Oh, Castiel. I’m the most powerful being in Hell. More powerful than Michael. Do you _really_ think I need to use physical objects to induce pain?” An invisible blow catches Castiel in the head again, and it hurts so much that he cringes against the wall. Another blow, and his hands grip his head. Then another blow, another and another. It’s incessant. Castiel releases an involuntary whimper. _No. He won’t give Lucifer the satisfaction_. He wills himself to remain silent, but he can’t help falling to his knees, lying prostrate on the ground. The world narrows down to nothing but the excruciating pain in his head, the ringing that accompanies it. _This is going to kill me_.

“It won’t kill you, Castiel. It’s just a . . . _taste_ . . . of what awaits you.” _You heard me?_ “No, I cannot read minds.” Lucifer shrugs and grins smugly. “Well, that’s not strictly true. I have my ways. But my sense of hearing is impeccable. You’ve been blathering.” He cackles.

Castiel loses consciousness before it stops.

xxxxxxxxxx

Lucifer sets a bowl of water on the concrete floor. “Drink,” he commands, smirking.

Castiel spits on the floor—blood comes out—and mutters, “I do not require sustenance.”

“I don’t _care_ if you require it. Drink.”

Castiel narrows his eyes and winces at the renewed throbbing in his head. “Why?”

“Because I fucking said so!”

There’s got to be more to it than that, but until he knows what it is, perhaps he should play along. No need to provoke Lucifer over something as small as this.

He crawls toward the bowl, grimacing at how much his knees hurt with each move. He forces his hands to grasp the porcelain bowl—

“Tsk. Not like that, Castiel.” Castiel’s gaze meets Lucifer’s. “Lick it up.”

“I am not a dog,” Castiel seethes.

Lucifer bursts into a fit of wheezing laughter. “Of course you are, Castiel. You’re _my_ dog.”

“ _No._ ”

Lucifer stamps one foot on Castiel’s hand, and Castiel screams. He can feel the bones fracture underneath the pressure. When Lucifer’s boot recedes, it leaves behind a red welt with deep indentations.

“Drink.”

Castiel lifts the bowl up an inch with his intact left hand, but Lucifer stomps on that hand, too. Castiel drops the bowl, which lands undamaged, still full. Castiel suppresses another shriek but can’t help hissing between his teeth. The hand flops onto the ground, useless.

“Now. Drink.”

“No,” Castiel hurls with as much venom as he can muster.

Something slices across his throat, and blood spurts out of the slash. His hand reflexively reaches up to cover the wound, but he can’t manipulate the appendage. Blood gushes out between his broken fingers.

“Drink. The water.”

Castiel can’t, even if he were to try. What little strength he has seeps out with the blood.

“I said _drink_ , you fucking piece of shit,” Lucifer spits. He kicks Castiel in the back of the head then uses his boot to pound it into the bowl. Blood streams from Castiel’s neck into the water. Castiel swallows mouthfuls of the tainted water, drowning.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean languishes on the bed, feverish and trembling. Cuts materialize and disappear at regular intervals. His back keeps feeling like it’s on fire.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Sam asks beside him. He appears to be on the verge of tears.

“No,” Dean rasps. _I can deal with this. Whatever Cas is going through is ten times worse. We have to save him. We_ will _save him._

“Crowley back yet?” Dean manages to ask. Crowley said he’d get in touch with his contacts in Lucifer’s palace. He’d even claimed to know a couple men who work in Lucifer’s dungeons. With Lucifer, Crowley is now persona non grata; he’s been stripped of all his duties. So with the rebellion, his ass is now on the line as much as Dean’s, Sam’s, and Cas’s. They need to get the translation finished and the history disseminated. They can only hope people will take it seriously and Joshua will admit to writing it if anyone publicly puts the question to him. Apparently some of Crowley’s contacts are part of the rebellion, too, and he thinks they’d be amenable to working with them.

“No,” Sam replies to the question.

“When Mom comes . . . I don’t want her to see me like this. Don’t let her. Please.” Sam just stares. “Okay, Sam?”

“Fine.” But he dons his disapproving frown.

“Fuck!” Dean screeches as another knife slices into his back.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel’s wings itch and burn. Between his bouts of consciousness, Lucifer has frequently taken the opportunity to carve into Castiel’s wings. A couple of times with his mind, but more often with the angel-blade, which allows both blood and grace to leak out. As soon as his body heals, Lucifer attacks again. The wings are slower to mend, and the feathers never fully do.  

A horrible thought occurs to him. Dean can feel everything he does. He’d known that, yet he hadn’t considered it until now. He’d been too distracted. He doesn’t care if Lucifer kills him, but if he does, would Dean die, too?

Probably.

Which means Castiel would be responsible for his death.

He has to stay alive. No doubt Lucifer plans to let him live as long as possible, merely for the sheer fun of torture.

Not only does he have to stay alive; he has to escape. But how? It’s impossible.

Nearly impossible. There had been that Rit Zien. He must’ve escaped somehow.

Before he can contemplate the matter further, Lucifer reappears.

“Hello, Castiel,” he intones with a too-bright smile. Castiel scowls at him, and he snickers. “Politeness isn’t one of your virtues, is it?”

“Bite me,” Castiel retorts.

Lucifer responds with a louder chuckle. “Well. I have something special planned for us today.” He crouches down in front of Castiel and places his hands on either side of Castiel’s forehead. Castiel studies the ground. “Look at me,” he orders. Castiel doesn’t move. “I said, look at me!” He yanks Castiel’s head up so their eyes meet. Castiel tries to close his eyes, but they won’t budge. They burn, and he needs to blink, but Lucifer’s eyes ceaselessly bore into his; then he actually feels Lucifer slip into his mind.

The outside world has disappeared, and now he stands next to Lucifer on a black-and-white checkered floor. Hallways branch off in every direction, forming an asterisk. _Get out!_ Castiel shrieks.

_Why, Castiel_ , Lucifer jeers. _I just want to take a look around._

Lucifer strolls toward the hallway directly in front of him, and Castiel dashes after him. The hall seems endless, with doors crowded on each side. He doesn’t know what’s behind them, exactly, but he realizes that entering any of them will take them deeper into the interior of his mind. When he’s close enough, Castiel prepares to tackle Lucifer, but he holds Castiel off with a spell, maintaining an invisible barrier between them.

Lucifer steps into one where Naomi is in the process of reeducating Castiel. Witnessing this event again, especially with Lucifer . . . he’s not sure he can bear it.

_Get out!_ Castiel starts to sob. But he’s frozen, and all he can do is view the memory along with Lucifer.

Naomi sends a shock through Castiel’s body, and Lucifer grins. _What’s this?_ Naomi asks how they can end the conflict between Heaven and Hell, and Castiel proposes peace. Naomi shocks him again.

Lucifer turns to him. _You’re a man after my own heart, Castiel. Why can’t we all just get along, hmm?_

_Because you’re a psychopath._

_I heard that._ Lucifer slaps Castiel. Did Lucifer actually hit him, or did it happen only in his mind? Either way, it stings.

Lucifer leaves the room and glances inside the other ones as they pass, catching glimpses into Castiel’s past. _Boring, boring, boring_. He pauses outside one and smirks. _Hmm, what do we have here?_

Castiel follows Lucifer inside and gawks, horrified by the scene. It’s the Soulmate Ceremony. Castiel stares inside the mirror, and a black-eyed Dean gazes back.

_Now_ this _is interesting._

Castiel exits the chamber and recites the lie to Akobel. Lucifer cackles.

_Oh, this is just too delicious! You’re a natural at deceit! At least now I know what the deal with Dean is. I bet you’re his soulmate, too, right?_ Castiel’s eyes fill with tears, and he focuses on the ground. _And to think, Crowley never informed me of the irregularity during Dean’s Soulmate Ceremony. I never trusted the son of a bitch, but this is disloyalty on a whole new plane. He should’ve told me. Then I could’ve executed Dean and prevented this mess._

Castiel’s heart throbs at the words. To think, he could’ve never met Dean.

_I never thought Crowley would actually be involved with the rebellion, though. Didn’t think he had the balls_. Lucifer titters.

They move on until they arrive at Castiel’s last conversation with Rachel.

“I cannot marry you, Rachel,” Castiel explains.

“Why not? Aren’t we friends?” Rachel presses.

“Of course.”

Rachel grabs Castiel’s wrist. “Then what’s wrong with it? We could be happy together. You’re my soulmate, and you don’t have one.”

Castiel wrenches himself out of her grasp. “It would be a lie.”

“Castiel—”

“Moreover, if you wish to persist in badgering me in this fashion, I will not speak to you ever again.”

Lucifer cackles.

“What?”

Castiel sighs. “I value our friendship, but I cannot endure your proposals any longer. If you cannot respect that, we can no longer be friends.”

Rachel’s eyes water, and she stalks away.

_Damn, that’s cold, Castiel. Something must be broken inside you._

As if Castiel needs a reminder.

To their left, an entranceway glitters. Castiel wonders what it signifies.

The chamber is a blank room, but soon, a bed materializes. Dean and Castiel appear a moment later, lying nude under the covers.

Castiel frowns. This hasn’t happened. It’s not a memory. It must be—

_So this is what you fantasize about, Castiel._ He inches toward the bed and places a hand on the blanket—

_Don’t!_

Lucifer snorts. _Like I’d want to see you idiots naked anyway._

He examines the figures in the bed then turns back to Castiel, who doesn’t like that smug, calculating look. _You really love him, don’t you?_

_I refuse to discuss that._

Lucifer guffaws. _I can make you, you know_. Castiel trembles inwardly at the threat. He knows he wouldn’t survive such a course of action. _But let’s save that for another day_.

Suddenly, Castiel is back in the dungeon. Alone.

Castiel falls to his knees, curls into himself, and sobs. Lucifer had just frolicked inside his head, peering into some of his most private memories, even his heart.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel has to get out of here. Lucifer might pry into his head again, and he can’t endure that. Can Dean feel it, too? He needs to find a way out, for the both of them. If only he did require food and drink, he might be able to trick whoever brought him the items.

When Lucifer returns, he wears a sadistic smile. Castiel stands up but doesn’t otherwise react. Lucifer slithers toward him and grips his shoulders. In the split second Lucifer takes to focus, Castiel makes his move.

He musters what strength he can and squeezes Lucifer’s throat.

Lucifer easily fends him off. He shoves Castiel against the wall and clutches his shoulder with one hand. He wraps the other around Castiel’s neck and presses his thumb on his Adam’s apple, cutting off Castiel’s access to air.

“You think I didn’t see that coming?” Lucifer scoffs. “Boy, you’ve seen _nothing_.” Huge wings materialize, and Castiel’s eyes widen.

He didn’t know Lucifer still had his wings. He’d heard that Lucifer cut them off in disgust after fleeing to Hell.

“How is this a surprise? I’m a damn angel, you dumbass.” Lucifer pretends to think for a minute. “Yes, I can control when my wings manifest on the physical plane. Bet you’d like to know the secret.”

Lucifer circles his thumb around Castiel’s throat and stops at the clavicle. He massages the spot, but Castiel only dimly registers the motion. He focuses on studying Lucifer’s wings and catching his breath.

They’re black, just like all angels’ wings. But they’re rougher. Lucifer lifts a wing and brushes the tip against the side of Castiel’s neck. Castiel hisses at the pain, and his hand flies to the area. It comes away bloody.

“My wings are weapons,” Lucifer proclaims.

With them, Lucifer slashes indiscriminately at Castiel’s body.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sam knocks on the door and cracks it open. “Can I come in?” he asks.

“Sure.” Dean sits up on the bed. Sam tiptoes inside and shuts the door behind him.

Fresh welts have opened up on Dean’s body, and Dean wipes away the blood with a towel. Sam grimaces at the sight, but it’s nothing compared to yesterday. Dean doesn’t know how to explain it, because he’d actually had very few physical wounds, but it’d felt like someone was walking around in his head. _What kind of mind games is that bastard playing with Cas?_

“How’re you feeling?” Dean shrugs. “I’m sorry.” Dean nods curtly. “I’ve got some news.”

Dean perks up. “Yeah?”

“Crowley’s guy is here.”

“Finally.” Dean stands up. Crowley had promised he knew someone who works in Lucifer’s dungeons, someone who was willing to let them in.

“You sure you up for this?”

“Dude, I’ve got to do _something_.” He can’t just lay around, even if his body hurts all over. It makes him feel useless.

In the living room, Mom and Crowley are sitting on one of the couches. On the other one is—

“ _Benny?_ ” Dean exclaims.

Benny grins. “Hey, brother.” He hops off the couch and envelops Dean in a bear hug. Dean winces, but Benny doesn’t seem to notice.

“You two know each other?” Crowley interjects.

“We used to serve in the same unit,” Benny answers.

“Ah.”

“Do you know what we’re doing?” Dean asks Benny.

“Just that you’re rescuing some poor soul from Lucifer’s dungeons.”

“How can you stand to work there?”

“I won’t lie, brother. It’s hard. But I’m a plant.” He shrugs. “Someone’s gotta gather the intel.”

“For the rebellion?”

“Yep.”

“How’d you get involved in the rebellion anyway?”

“Let’s save story time for later,” Crowley interrupts. “If we wanna get your damn angel out before Lucifer drives him insane, time is of the essence.”

“You know our target?” Dean asks Benny.

“There’s only one prisoner down there right now. I don’t know what you want him for, or what’s going on with your family—I’m sorry about your dad, by the way—but I’m guessing it’s for the rebellion.”

“And the less you know, the better,” Crowley declares. _What? Why?_

“You can never be too careful,” Benny explains.

_Oh_. Dean gets it. “Uh huh.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mom inquires. Benny, Dean, and Sam settle on a sofa.

“Benny’s provided a map of the secret passages leading to the dungeon,” Crowley expounds. He passes Mom and Sam copies.

“Where’s mine?” Dean demands.

Crowley ignores him. “You and Sam go through. Take your weapons, of course. Benny tells me Lucifer always leaves the dungeons by nine p.m.”

“How do we unlock the dungeon?” Sam wonders.

“What about me?” Dean puts in.

Again, Crowley doesn’t deign to answer him. “Mary is an expert lock pick.”

“You think you can open the lock, Mom?” Sam asks.

“I know I can,” Mary confirms.

“His locks aren’t that complicated,” Benny says. “He trusts the security to get the job done.”

“And many guards are stationed in the dungeons,” Crowley warns. “So be careful.”

“ _What about me?_ ” Dean insists.

Mom, Sam, and Crowley look at him as if he’s an idiot. “You’re not going. You’re a liability,” Crowley pronounces.

“He’s right,” Sam agrees.

“What?” Dean responds.

“Honey, you’re injured,” Mom says gently. “You need to recover.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean scoffs. “Lucifer won’t be with Cas.”

“You’ll slow us down.”

“I can handle it!”

Sam gives Dean a pleading look, but Dean’s determined. Sam’s eyes migrate to the others. “Maybe we’re underestimating Dean. Let him come.”

“But, Sam—” Mom begins.

“If we don’t, he’ll just follow us anyway.”

Dean grins and claps his brother on the back. “You know me so well, Sammy.”


	10. Chapter Nine

When Lucifer returns, he stretches out his wings. As he does, Castiel realizes the door behind him remains cracked open a sliver.

During the few hours Lucifer was gone, Castiel had regathered his strength. If an opportunity presented itself, he wanted to be ready. And the sooner the better. It’s only a matter of time before Lucifer infiltrates his mind again. What if he stumbles upon Castiel and Dean’s first kiss? Or he views more of Castiel’s fantasies about Dean? He has imagined the bliss he’d feel the first time he inserts himself inside Dean, or Dean presses his penis inside him. If Lucifer sees it, he doesn’t think he’d recover.

So now, when Lucifer once again presents his wings, Castiel pounces. The wings are the most vulnerable parts of an angel’s body, and he bets Lucifer is no different.

He leaps toward Lucifer and grasps at feather tufts, tugging hard. In Lucifer’s surprised intake of breath, Castiel hears a note of pain. He scratches with his nails, and he actually feels blood. Lucifer shoves him against the wall and pins one of his wrists down. From this point, Castiel’s head is about even with Lucifer’s shoulder.

He acts on instinct.

He snarls and bites a huge chunk out of the culverts on the underside. Lucifer howls, and Castiel spits out the feathers. Lucifer wrests the other wing out of Castiel’s hand and strikes Castiel on the head with it. Castiel loses his footing and slips onto the floor, catching himself with one knee. His head hits the wall, hard, and his vision grows fuzzy.

He dimly registers three figures materialize behind Lucifer, and everything fades to static.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean, Sam, and Mom creep toward Lucifer’s palace by way of the forest. Not many people venture here, and they’re able to easily hide themselves from stray passersby.

They follow Benny’s map to Lucifer’s dungeon, and everything’s smooth sailing. Crowley had concocted a small jar of sleeping dust and given it to Mom. They’re careful to avoid guards on their rounds, but when they can’t, Mom tosses the dust in their face, and they fall to the floor, unconscious.

When they’re almost to the right cell, a blow hits Dean in the back of the head.

“Dammit,” Dean whispers.

“What is it?” Sam whispers back.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” But it’s not. It means Lucifer’s in there right now with Cas.

But they’re so close. They can’t stop now.

Dean shoves past Mom and Sam and takes the lead. When they reach the dungeon, Dean doesn’t hesitate to act.

He draws his sword and strikes at Lucifer’s wing. Lucifer whirls around, growls, and sweeps Dean to the side. Only then does he realize— _holy shit, wings!_ They’re the largest ones he’s ever seen.

He’d known Lucifer had originally been an angel, but like everyone, he’d assumed Lucifer had rid himself of them. He must’ve found a way to mask them at will.

His wings, though black like Cas’s, are distinctively different. They’re not as glossy; rather, they’re a void of nothingness. And the feathers were rough and sharp.

He glances at Cas, who’s lying comatose.

Mom and Sam aim their blades at Lucifer, but he relegates them to the sidelines with a flick of his wrist. _What the fuck? He didn’t even touch them._

Dean scrambles up and points his weapon toward a wing nub on Lucifer’s back. He scratches the surface, but Lucifer waves a hand and Dean’s hurled against the wall. Sam and Mom attempt to hit Lucifer from either side, but he flings them away once again. Dean tightens his grip on his sword. The wings are the most sensitive spot of an angel’s body, so he’ll continue to target them.

He slashes at the top of Lucifer’s wing, but he merely grazes it. Lucifer spins around, grips Dean’s neck with one hand, and pins him against the wall.

“You!” Lucifer spits with a sneer. “Watching you choke on your last breath would satisfy me. Immensely.” He squeezes Dean’s throat, and damn, he’s strong. Mom and Sam rush toward Dean, but Lucifer tosses them back against the walls.

Dean struggles in Lucifer’s grasp. The sword remains in his hand, but he can’t even lift it. Sam darts forward again, and Lucifer responds with the toss of one hand. A gash opens up in his throat, and Sam covers it with his hands.

“Sammy!” Dean shrieks.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him,” Lucifer intones. Drops of blood land on Dean’s lashes, and it feels like his body is splitting open. _Holy fuck. He’s sawing me in fucking_ half.

The slash running down his middle stops at his chest, and Lucifer’s hands slip from Dean’s neck. Dean gulps in a breath. _Where is that fucker?_ He scans his surroundings until he spots Lucifer—with Cas.

He had hopped on Lucifer’s back, and he uses teeth and hands to rip away clumps of feathers. He actually draws blood. _Damn, he’s such a badass._

“How’re you still mobile!” Lucifer screeches at Cas. He bucks Cas off, but the distraction had been enough.

Dean wields the weapon before he can think about it. One clean slice, and Lucifer’s head rolls to the floor. He closes his eyes against the blinding blue light.

Dean just stares as Lucifer’s body crumples to the ground. _Damn. Did I just do that? How the fuck did that happen?_

“Holy shit!” Sam exclaims as he crawls to his feet. His throat has already healed, and Dean feels his own skin sew itself back up. How is that happening? Demon bodies mend fast, but not that fast. Maybe it’s because Lucifer hadn’t used an actual weapon against them. “Dean,” Sam continues. “You just killed Lucifer!”

 _Cas_. He rushes to Cas’s side. Cas struggles to breathe, but when Dean presses an index finger to his wrist, his heartbeat is steady. Dean studies Cas in more detail, notes the shredded clothing, the gashes and bruises, the bald patches scattered within the expanse of his wings. Not to mention the dried blood _everywhere_.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Dean admonishes, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“I’ll try not to,” Cas coughs.

Dean pecks Cas on his cracked lips and tastes blood. No doubt most of it is Cas’s, but remembering what Cas had just done, he realizes some of it must be Lucifer’s, too. Ah, well.

“How did you do that?” Dean asks.

Cas’s nose scrunches. “Do what?”

“Jump on Lucifer like that.” With the state Cas’s in, it should’ve been impossible.

Cas raises an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who just killed him.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding,” he hears Benny comment behind him. He turns around and finds Benny standing on the dungeon’s threshold, gawking at the scene. Mom carries a wooden box, which she sets down beside Lucifer. She picks up Lucifer’s head, cool as you please, deposits it in the box, and closes the lid.

“What’re you doing?” Dean demands.

“It’s proof that you killed Lucifer.”

Dean eyes the corpse. “Uh, he’s obviously dead.”

“But we need to show _you_ did it.”

“Why?”

“Mom’s right,” Sam opines.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll tell you at Crowley’s,” Mom says. “We should go.”

“I’ll take care of things here,” Benny announces.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles. He returns his focus to Cas. “Can you stand?”

Cas attempts to get to his feet, but he topples halfway. Dean catches him.

“Whoa. I’ve got you.” He drapes Cas’s arm around his shoulders, and Cas leans on him. “Help me, Sammy.” He can’t support Cas alone, not the whole way.

“All right.” Sam arranges Cas’s other arm around his shoulders.

Mom scoops up the box. “Let’s go.”

They slog back in silence. When they’re halfway to Crowley’s, they bump into an angel.

She raises her sword and glares at them. “Demons,” she spits. “What have you done to Castiel?”

Cas’s eyes grow more alert. “Hannah?”

“I may not be a soldier, but I’ll take care of these foul creatures and bring you home.”

“No, Hannah.”

“What?”

“Dean and Sam are my friends. The human soul, Mary, she’s their mother. They broke me out of Lucifer’s dungeon.”

Her expression grows guarded. “Why?”

“Not that this conversation isn’t scintillating,” Dean interjects, “but we need to get going. Hannah, is it?” She nods. “You can come.”

“How do I know I’m not walking into a trap?”

“Hannah, do you trust me?” Castiel croaks. Hannah nods again. “It is not a trap. I promise.”

“All right, Castiel. Then I shall accompany you.”


	11. Chapter Ten

The Winchesters don’t lead them to Crowley’s mansion, but, rather, an underground hideout. When they reach the first room, Dean eases Castiel onto a couch until he’s stretched out along its length. “This okay?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Castiel sighs. He closes his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You’re getting blood on my sofa!” Crowley complains as he shuffles into the room. Castiel’s eyes fly open at the sound. He would like to sleep, but he can’t right now. He needs to know why Hannah’s here, and the group needs to figure out their next move.

Crowley’s eyes land on Hannah. “Who’s this?”

“Hannah,” she squeaks. “Who’re you?”

“Why the fuck is she here?”

“His name’s Crowley,” Sam informs Hannah.

“ _Crowley?!_ The King of the Crossroads?”

“The one and only,” Crowley boasts.

Hannah’s eyes dart to Castiel. “Why would you associate with such an unsavory character?”

“It’s a long story,” Castiel manages to grit out.

“Whoa, Cas,” Dean warns as he pets Castiel’s shoulder. “Take it easy.” Dean strokes over his bicep, which relaxes him. His eyes sweep tenderly over Castiel. “I should probably get you cleaned up.” Dean retreats while Mary, Sam, and Crowley settle on the other couch. Hannah remains standing at the foot of the sofa on which Castiel lies. A moment later, Dean returns with a wet towel. He kneels at Castiel’s side and gently rubs it over Castiel’s forearm. Its warmth soothes him. “How’s that?” Dean murmurs.

“Hmm,” Castiel purrs. He closes his eyes and allows the tension to leave his body. He barely pays attention as Sam explains the situation to Hannah. When Sam finishes, Castiel chances a glance at her. She stares at him with a stunned expression.

“What?” Castiel rumbles.

She startles. “Sorry. Nothing.”

“Now, you gonna tell us why you’re here?” Dean prompts.

Hannah crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at him. “Tell _you_?”

“Cas deserves to know. Or are you too damn prejudiced to continue this conversation?”

“Dean,” Castiel chides.

“What?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore. I must admit I am . . . shocked to hear about a demon and an angel—not just anyone, but my friend—being soulmates, but maybe nothing should surprise me anymore.”

“Why’s that?” Dean asks.

Hannah sighs. “Let me tell you about what’s happening in Heaven.

“There’s been this tract going around, in installments. It said something about how Michael and Lucifer had created a fake war between Heaven and Hell to prevent anyone from ousting them from power and that they’re actually really close.”

“Inias must’ve been releasing portions of the history book,” Dean concludes.

“I thought he planned to wait until the whole thing was translated,” Sam mentions.

Hannah does a double take. “You all knew about this?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs.

“We later learned that Inias was the one distributing the pamphlets. Joshua—of all people—confirmed the information. Inias engineered a coup, and while Joshua didn’t participate, he’s thrown his clout behind him. Michael’s been imprisoned.” Hannah shakes her head in disbelief. “It’s chaos up there. With all the revelations, I thought tht maybe Ezekiel—and you—might still be alive down here. That perhaps they’d lied about your deaths. So I bribed Samandriel to let me into Hell.” Samandriel is the newest gatekeeper, so his susceptibility to persuasion is understandable.

But wait—did she just say—Michael has been _imprisoned_?

Dean frowns. “Wait a minute. There were memorials for Cas’s force, weren’t there?”

“Yes.—How did you know?”

“That’s what Uriel told Lucifer’s council. He said they’d actually taken the bodies to Heaven.”

Hannah’s eyes widen. “So it’s true. Uriel’s also in prison. They said he’d been Michael and Lucifer’s go-between. Or one of them, at least.”

“What about Muriel?” Castiel injects. “Did you ever find out who killed her? And why?”

“The assumption had been that demons had killed her. The military was planning to avenge her death in their next move. But it turns out Uriel murdered her to keep up the enmity between Heaven and Hell.”

“Ezekiel is not alive, Hannah. Only I survived,” Castiel explains after a moment. Hannah’s eyes fill with tears, and his own eyes water. _I’m sorry. It should’ve been me. I’m alive only because—because of Dean. If he wasn’t my soulmate, I might not be. It’s not fair, I know._ Hannah sniffles and covers her mouth, as if to restrain herself.

“Do you need a minute?” Castiel asks. Hannah nods. Mary guides her toward another room and returns.

“So what’s in the bloody box?” Crowley demands.

“Lucifer’s head,” Mary answers breezily.

Shock overwhelms Crowley’s face. “You’re shitting me.”

Mary picks up the box and opens it. “See for yourself.” Crowley approaches her and peers into the container.

“Damn. How—what the fuck—how?!”

Dean smiles grimly. “I’ve never seen you so flabbergasted, Crowley.” He glares at Dean.

“It was Dean,” Mary informs him.

“ _You?!_ ” Crowley exclaims, now facing Dean.

“Yeah.” Dean shrugs. “Don’t ask how. I have no fucking idea.”

Crowley beams. “Splendid. This means I can now install myself as the King of Hell.” Everyone else gawks at him. “What? There’s a power vacuum. Someone has to take over. Why not me?”

“You’re too polarizing,” Sam argues.

Crowley shrugs. “I don’t have a problem with eliminating my enemies.”

“I thought the point of this rebellion was to reduce bloodshed, not continue it,” Mary objects.

“We will. Once the riffraff is out of the way.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Sam inserts.

Crowley scowls at him. “Go on.”

“How about we make Dean the new head of Hell?”

“What?!” Dean splutters.

“Think about it. You killed Lucifer. It gives you a sort of cachet.”

“I’m not up to that shit.”

“You’d be our best chance for a peaceful transfer of power.” Dean’s countenance grows bewildered. “Demons respond to shows of force. That’s why no one ever questioned Lucifer. What demonstrates dominance more than killing Lucifer himself?”

Understanding dawns in Mary’s eyes. “Sam’s right. I like this plan.”

“You just want your son to be the one in power,” Crowley grumbles.

“Actually, I’d rather he not.” Mary gives Dean a sympathetic look. “It’s a demanding role.”

Dean grabs Castiel’s hand and squeezes. “Who’s gonna accept me as their damn leader when I’ve got an angel by my side?”

“Even better. Don’t you see?” Her eyes shine with hope. “This is how we unite Heaven and Hell. Michael’s been overthrown. You rule Hell, Dean, and Castiel—you rule Heaven.”

Castiel chokes on his breath and coughs. Dean rubs his shoulder, and Castiel flashes him a reassuring smile. “I am not fit for the position,” Castiel rasps.

“Why not?” Sam chimes in. He practically bounces with excitement. “Maybe it’s why you’re soulmates. To bring an end to the conflict.”

“Bullshit, Sammy,” Dean counters. “What, you think there’s some divine purpose? Fuck no.”

“I don’t know,” Sam admits. “But many people do think that way. It could persuade them to support your leadership.”

“There’s too much prejudice,” Castiel points out. With a pang, he remembers Inias’s deep mistrust of Dean. “Even angels involved in the rebellion—like Inias—they would not wish to exist side by side with demons.”

“They wouldn’t have to. They still live in separate realms.”

Hannah stumbles into the room, glances at the box, and gasps. “Is that _Lucifer’s head_?!”

“Astute observation, princess,” Crowley remarks. Hannah glowers at him, but he ignores her. “Let’s talk about this in the morning. It’s late.” _He probably hopes Mary and Sam will change their minds by then. So do I._

“Where did you get Lucifer’s head?” Hannah cries.

“I’ll explain everything, dear,” Mary offers as Sam and Crowley retire for the night.

“You wanna go to bed, Cas?” Dean asks.

“Yes.” Castiel tries to sit up, but his body shakes with the effort.

Dean wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Let me help you.”

Hannah gawks at them. “What?” Castiel mutters.

“You are going to sleep in the same bed . . . with _him_?”

Dean rolls his eyes, but Castiel responds before he can worsen the situation with a sarcastic comment. “We are soulmates.”

“Yes, but . . . ” She flushes. “Never mind.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean eases Cas onto the bed and climbs in beside him. He remains on his knees, however, watching as Cas laboriously arranges his wings so they dangle off the other side of the bed. His heart pangs as he examines the disheveled, patchy appendages. He reaches for one of them but pauses mid-motion. “Is it all right if I . . . can I straighten out your wings?” Cas should probably change out of his ruined clothes, too, but that can wait until tomorrow. He needs rest, and Dean doesn’t know if they have anything that’d fit Cas anyway.

“Yes,” Cas exhales.

Dean notes the clotted blood matting the wings and frowns. “I should probably get another towel.” He’d noticed that blood earlier, of course, but it’d felt like cleaning the wings with everyone present might be too . . . intimate, even if he’d scrubbed much of Cas’s body in front of them.

After he retrieves a towel, Dean brushes his fingertips over one of the wingtips, and Cas winces. “You okay?” he ventures.

“Fine,” Cas huffs. “I’d rather . . . please continue.”

Dean understands. It might be painful, but Cas wants to rid himself of Lucifer’s mark.

Soon, Dean establishes a rhythm, and Cas leans into Dean’s touch even as his wings tense up. There’s something Cas should know, but he’s not sure how to bring it up. When he wasn’t wracked with pain (no doubt a pale echo of Cas’s), he’d fretted that Cas didn’t realize how much he meant to him. What if Cas had died (Dean refused to accept it as a possibility, but still) without knowing?

“Cas, I’ve gotta tell you something,” Dean announces.

Cas frowns at him with concern, and the light in his eyes darkens slightly. Dean really wishes he could see them in their normal state, by themselves, without the glowing; he bets they’d be beautiful. “What is it, Dean?”

“I . . . ” Dean’s face heats up. What if Cas laughs at him? Or worse, reacts with disgust?

But he’s gotta get it out. “I love you,” he blurts.

A radiant smile blooms on Cas’s face. “Oh,” he breathes. “I love you, too.”

Dean grins so wide it feels almost as if his face might split in two. As Dean continues washing Cas’s wings and then fluffs them up, they settle into a companionable silence.

xxxxxxxxxx

In the morning, Castiel feels much better. His limbs still hurt, but he should be fully healed soon. When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted by the sight of Dean’s sleeping countenance. Castiel’s eyes dart from freckle to freckle as he admires the peaceful light of Dean’s soul. He watches, entranced, as Dean’s eyes flutter open.

“Mornin’,” Dean murmurs.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean removes the arm around Castiel’s shoulders, and Castiel misses it immediately. Dean stretches and yawns. “I’m gonna get something to eat. Wanna come?”

“I’d like to rest for a few more minutes.”

“Okay.” Dean pecks him on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Dean shuts the door on his way out. A few minutes later, someone knocks on it. “Castiel? May I come in?” Hannah calls.

“Yes,” Castiel replies.

After Hannah inches inside, she closes the door. “Mary told me everything last night.”

“Oh.”

“I agree with her and Sam.”

“About what?”

“You and your soulmate, you should take the reins of Heaven and Hell. Together.”

Castiel gapes at her. “You would consent to uniting Heaven and Hell?”

Hannah smiles wryly. “I admit that I have an aversion to demons. But our prejudice is no doubt due to conditioning, don’t you think?”

Castiel nods, inwardly shuddering as he recalls his nightmare about Naomi’s re-education.

“I hope that Inias—and by extension, Joshua—will see the sense in the plan. It’ll facilitate minimal opposition.” Castiel nods. “I approve of your Dean, by the way.”

“What?” Reluctant acceptance, he’d expected, but outright approval—that, he never could’ve imagined.

“I observed his comportment toward you last night. He cares for you very much, Castiel.”

Castiel grins. _Dean loves me._ The gravity of it washes over him, just as it did last night. Of course, he loves Dean, but he didn’t know if Dean would return the sentiment, even if they are soulmates. Dean and he had grown close, but Dean had seemed afraid of true intimacy. Almost losing Castiel to Lucifer must’ve put things in perspective for him.

He loves Dean. Dean loves him. Everything will be all right.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Inias proves amenable to Mary and Sam’s proposal. Four days later, after Castiel has healed properly, he accompanies Inias to Heaven. He’d wanted to bring Dean along, but Inias had objected, claiming Heaven wasn’t ready for that yet. When they arrive, he explains the situation to Castiel. After they attend a consultation with Joshua, Inias takes Castiel on a tour through the prison. Castiel requests Hannah’s presence at both events; a friendly face is helpful. From his cell, Michael vows revenge, but no one pays attention to him.

Inias leaves them at the exit. A minute later, they’re approached by Rachel. “Hello, Castiel. Hannah.”

Castiel smiles. Is Rachel finally willing to reestablish their friendship and cease any discussion of marriage? “Hello, Rachel,” he replies. Hannah echoes his greeting.

Rachel crosses her arms over her chest and glowers. “So, your soulmate is a demon?” Castiel nods. “And that’s why you didn’t want to get married.”

“It is one of the reasons, yes.”

Rachel’s expression morphs into pure hate. “You lied at the Soulmate Ceremony.”

“Yes.”

 “How could you commit such blasphemy? We should be imprisoning you, not installing some sort of joint Heaven-Hell alliance.”

“Rachel, that’s uncalled for—” Hannah warns.

“Shut up,” Rachel snaps. “I’m not talking to you.” She turns her attention back to Castiel. “You’re an abomination, Castiel. I can’t believe I ever wanted to marry you.”

“Rachel—” Castiel begins, but she stalks off before he can continue.

“Ignore her,” Hannah says. “She’s just jealous.”

Yes, but his insecurities roar up again. Maybe he _is_ an abomination.

Yet he can’t find it in himself to care, not anymore. He loves Dean, and if that makes him an abomination, he’s fine with it.

xxxxxxxxxx

Inias assigns Castiel a bedroom in the palace, and he turns in early. The quarters are spare but luxurious, with a mattress whose contours mold themselves to his body. Dean would like it.

He misses Dean. It’s hard to fall asleep without him, but he eventually drifts off.

It’s not a deep sleep, though, and he wakes up when he hears the door open. Footsteps approach his bed.

He opens his eyes just as the figure raises a sword. He catches the woman’s wrist, shoves her away, and abruptly sits up.

The moonlight drifting in through the window allows him to recognize her. “Rachel?”

“Hello, Castiel,” Rachel responds as a lopsided grin graces her face.

“What are you doing? Why do you have that sword?” Castiel feels the urge to throw up. He knows very well what the blade is for, but it can’t be. Even though they’ve lately been estranged, Rachel had been his first friend. Why would she attempt to kill him? Revenge? Anger?

Rachel’s smile grows wider. “Come, Castiel. You’re not that stupid.”

“But why?” His eyes flick to the sword. “Did I really hurt you that much?” His eyes fill with tears. He understands that his treatment of Rachel had been vile, but he didn’t know what else to do when she kept throwing herself at him. And he does love Rachel, as a friend. Why couldn’t she have contented herself with friendship as well?

Rachel scoffs. “This has nothing to do with anything so petty, though your rejection of me—it makes sense now. But what’s important is what you’ve done, what you’re planning. Demons are the most demented, evil beings in existence, and you want us to make peace?” She lowers her voice to a snarl. “You’re worse than any of them. To know what they are yet align yourself to one— _romantically_.”

Her grip tightens on the sword, but before it can strike him, Castiel bounds to his feet. Where is his blade? He can’t think; all he can do is dodge Rachel’s swings. He trips over something and falls to the ground. _Ah, there it is_. He’d propped the sword up against the dresser. She slashes at him, grazing his forearm as he rolls out of the way and grabs his sword with his less dominant hand. She aims another blow at him, and it clips the back of his neck. Just a cut, and a tiny trim off his hair.

He slides his blade into his right hand and parries her jabs in an endless back-and-forth. A barely-there rustling from the doorway distracts him, and as he jumps out of the way once again, he plants his ankle awkwardly. Rachel knocks his sword away, and he wavers on his weakened ankle. She aims at his heart, and when he darts out of the way, he falls. Rachel sneers down at him and plants her feet on either side of his body.

“Rachel, please,” Castiel gasps, his body trapped between her legs. “You don’t want to do this.” She raises the sword. “We were friends once. Does that mean nothing to you?” She glares down at him. “Doesn’t matter. This isn’t you. You’re not a murderer, Rachel,” he proclaims gently. Her hands tremble, and something like sorrow flits across her face.

Castiel notices movement in the doorway behind her. Another angel doorway steps forward, and Castiel can’t believe his eyes. What’s Michael doing here? “What are you waiting for?” Michael hisses at Rachel. “Give the heretic his due.”

“Heretic?” Castiel echoes.

Michael’s grin is chilling. “What else what I could you, when you cavort with demons?” He inhales, exaggerating the sound. “You reek of sulfur, you filthy bastard.” Castiel inwardly flinches at Michael’s pronouncement. He knows he’s damaged, but still—

No. He’s not filth. Michael is.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Castiel bites out. “Considering your relationship with Lucifer.”

Michael scowls at him. “You and your demon murdered my brother. You deserve so much worse than what we’re giving you.”

Castiel turns his attention to Rachel. “You heard what he said. Yet you wish to do his bidding?”

“Michael has been our leader for millennia,” Rachel explains. “He knows best.”

“Just finish him already!” Michael bellows.

Rachel attempts to stab Castiel, but Castiel throws both hands up. Blood wells up from the wounds, but Castiel pays no attention to it or the pain. He snatches the blade from her, spins it around, and plunges it into her heart. His vision blurs. _I’m sorry, Rachel._

Michael cackles. “You are _brutal_ , Castiel. To think, you could do that to someone who used to be your friend.”

“The same applies to her,” Castiel points out as he stumbles to his feet. Michael creeps toward him, and Castiel backs away. Their pacing forms a circle then retraces it.

Michael brandishes his sword, and Castiel deflects his strike. They spar, and Castiel doesn’t feel like it’ll ever end. His hands burn now, and maintaining his grip is difficult. Eventually, Michael knocks the weapon out of his hand, and Castiel knows it’s finished. The backs of his legs hit the bed, and Michael holds the sword aloft.

Michael chuckles. “And I thought you were supposed to be skilled!” Castiel braces himself for the inevitable blow.

_I’m sorry, Dean. I wish I could’ve said goodbye._

A second later, a blade protrudes from Michael’s back, and the bright blue light of his grace filling the room. His body slumps to the floor, revealing Hannah behind him.

“Hannah?” Castiel gasps. “What’re you doing here?”

“Saving your life,” she deadpans. “No one was guarding your room, which I thought was a stupid oversight. I decided to come check on you and speak to Inias about the matter in the morning. When I arrived, your door was open. You know the rest.”

“Thank you.”

Hannah smiles “You are very welcome. Should I get Inias?”

“Yes.”


	13. Epilogue

With Michael’s death, resistance to new leadership became almost nonexistent. Without Michael and Lucifer, dissidents had no one they could all agree to rally around. (That doesn’t mean problems might not arise later, of course, but at least everything’s settled at the moment.)

Inias and Joshua’s support helped put down other embers of opposition. In Hell, Crowley’s clout kept the plan in motion. Dean thinks they’ve actually got a chance at pulling it off. Instituting elected leadership councils in Hell and Heaven seems to have helped. Each council contains twelve individuals. Sam and Crowley hold seats on Hell’s council, while Inias and Hannah reside on Heaven’s. Joshua had garnered the most votes in Heaven, but he’d refused to serve.

Dean and Cas will be coronated tomorrow with two ceremonies, one in Hell during the day and one in Heaven during the night. Neither he nor Cas like the idea of being kings, but it’s what most of the people want, and they couldn’t think of a better alternative. It beats being called “master” at least. Just the very idea skeeves Dean out.

Cas has been bugging Dean to visit his favorite spot in Heaven’s myriad gardens, and now that they’ve got a sec to breathe, it’s as good a time as any.

When they enter the garden, Dean is overwhelmed by all the colors. Cas had said this was one of the more obscure gardens; he can’t imagine what the more opulent gardens must look like. He follows Cas and gawks at the wooden trellises twined with ivy, giant-ass trees, violets, some yellow and blue flowers. (He doesn’t know what most of this shit is called, but he has to admit, it’s pretty awesome. No wonder Head Gardener is such an important position.)

Finally, Cas stops beside a small lake with a wooden pier jutting out into the water. A giant field of sunflowers surrounds the dirt path leading to the dock.

At the head of the trail, Cas pauses. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I’ve always loved this place. I can be alone here, and sunflowers are my favorite flowers.”

“You do know sunflowers are a weed, right?” Dean teases. Cas flushes, and Dean admires how the color accentuates his cheekbones.

“I think that’s one reason I like them,” Cas replies. “They’re tenacious.”

Cas leads them onto the pier. They shuck off their shoes and socks, sit on the edge, and dip their feet into the water. Dean gazes down at the clear sky blue lake. He understands why Cas likes this body of water. It has a certain purity to it. His eyes move from the center of the lake to their reflection. He studies their interlaced fingers, the luminescent black of Cas’s wings before turning to Cas. “Thanks for bringing me.”

Cas smiles. “You’re welcome.”

He leans forward to place his lips on Cas’s. Cas falls into the kiss, pressing insistently until Dean opens his mouth. Cas’s tongue intertwines with his, and it tastes like bliss. Cas grasps his shoulders and pushes him onto the wooden planks. He unbuttons Dean’s shirt and smooths his hands over Dean’s chest. Dean shivers; his dick’s already swelling.

“Cas—” Dean gasps.

One of Cas’s hands snakes down Dean’s stomach to his jeans and squeezes the crotch. Even with the light emanating from his eyes, Dean notices them darken. “Are you aroused?”

“Yeah,” Dean exhales.

“Would you like me to—what did you call it—jerk you off?” Dean snorts. Cas is always so damn straightforward. Cas raises an eyebrow. “Is that a yes?”

“Uh huh.”

Cas removes his hand. “No.”

“No?” Dean whines. What the fuck? What’s with all the torment? Cheeky bastard.

“No.” He studies the dock. “I think—I would like—I think it’s time we . . . had intercourse,” he stammers.

Dean stares up at him. He’s too stunned to even make fun of Cas for his word choice. Sure, they’d done sexual things before, hand jobs, blow jobs . . . but never _that_. Cas had never seemed comfortable with the idea, always redirecting him when he’d tried to initiate anything more. “Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

Dean surges up and kisses him. Cas inserts one leg in between Dean’s and presses it against Dean’s erection. Dean groans and bucks up into the friction.

“Wait a minute. We don’t have any lube,” Dean realizes.

“We don’t need any.”

“What?”

“My wings, Dean.”

“You mean that oil?”

“Yes.”

Dean buries a hand in one of Cas’s wings until he finds the nub. He presses down on it with his thumb. Cas whimpers, and Dean smirks. Through their pants, he feels Cas’s growing boner poking into his leg. With his unoccupied hand, he draws off Cas’s trench coat, guiding it carefully around the wings. He undoes the buttons of Cas’s shirt and bites down on a nipple. Cas hisses. Dean pries open the button of Cas’s slacks, and he tugs at the waistline. “I think we should get these off, don’t you?”

“Yours, too.”

They hastily tear off their jeans and boxers and shed themselves of their shirts. Dean falls onto his back, savoring the feel of the rough wooden surface against his skin. He rubs at Cas’s wing nub, producing as much oil as he can muster. Cas moans, his wings fully extended, and Dean’s captivated once again by the majesty of the angel in front of him. He spreads his legs wide, forcing Cas’s knees between them. Dean smears his fingers through Cas’s oil until they’re drenched. He inserts one finger into his own hole, crooking it, and Cas’s eyes follow the motion hungrily. It hurts, but it’s a good kind of pain. When he’s ready, Dean pushes in another finger, his eyes on Cas’s the whole time. When Dean could use another finger, Cas wrenches Dean’s fingers out of his ass, runs a hand through the oil on his wing, and squeezes Dean’s thigh with one hand before pinning it to the dock. He jams three fingers into Dean’s hole, and Dean pushes back against them. Eventually, Cas’s fingers brush his prostate, and Dean’s body jerks. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean sighs. Cas finds the spot again, and Dean feels it in his dick. “Yeah, right there.” His hand is still covered in oil, and now he uses it to strip Cas’s dick. Dean grins when he notices the precome bubbling out.

“Cas, fuck me,” Dean begs. Cas crooks an eyebrow, the wiseass. “Please?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Dean scrapes more oil from Cas’s wing and slathers it over Cas’s cock. Cas arranges Dean’s legs around his waist. “Ready?”

“So fuckin’ ready,” Dean breathes.

Cas presses the tip in, and Dean moans. _Finally_ , he gets his angel inside him. He gradually dives farther and farther in. Dean shoves his ass upward, urging Cas to bury himself inside it. He doesn’t have to be so damn slow, but Dean understands he just wants to be careful. The deeper he plunges inside Dean, the more intensely the blue light in his eyes shines. Dean’s transfixed by it. He wonders if Cas observes something similar in his soul.

When Cas is fully sheathed inside, Dean pushes up against him. _Move, dammit._

_Should I move now? I want to. But just being joined like this . . . it feels like home._

_Cas? That you?_

_Dean? You heard me?_

_Yeah. And you should move_. Dean repeats his previous motion of insistence.

Cas pulls back and slams into Dean, again and again, almost as if he can’t control himself once he’s started. _Maybe he can’t._

_Maybe I don’t want to._

Dean smirks. _Touché._

Cas pounds him into the ground. The wood chafes against Dean’s back, but it only turns him on more. Damn, Dean’s close. He wraps a hand around his dick and rubs up and down the shaft. Cas keeps one hand on Dean’s hip, maintaining the stability of Dean’s body while thrusting into him at a frantic pace. He envelops Dean’s hand with the other, and the feel of his fingertips on Dean’s cock brings him to orgasm. Cum stains their hands. Cas licks the spunk from both of them. Dean’s dick twitches at that, but he’s too spent to do more than lie there. His skin’s on fire, and when he feels Cas’s cum spill inside him, he burns. With a sob, Cas bites down on Dean’s shoulder. Dean knows he’ll bear the faint indentation of teeth for a few hours, but it’s so worth it.

Dean burns and burns and burns. It feels almost as if a second orgasm has been wrung out of him all too soon.

Cas pulls out and sinks down onto the dock beside Dean. He uses Dean’s undershirt to wipe off the cum inside him, and Dean almost misses its stain when it’s gone. So sue him, he likes the idea of something of Cas’s inside him. Cas tosses the soiled shirt into the distance.

They pant, their breaths creating a steady rhythm. Cas’s fingers ghost across Dean’s forearms, and goosebumps form on his sensitive skin. He’s so damn hot, bursting with the overload of pleasure. Cas shivers beside him, and a bead of sweat forms in the center of his forehead. When Dean swipes at it with his index finger, Cas’s tremors intensify with the touch, and Dean’s body echoes the motion.

_I love you, Dean._

Dean’s not surprised he can still hear Cas. He’s learned that, the more intense their emotions (and they closer they are, physically), the more their sensations mingle. _I love you, too, Cas. So damn much._

Cas nestles his cheek against Dean’s and scoops him into his arms. Every inch of his skin against Cas’s tingles. It’s an ecstasy that overwhelms him, but as he snuggles against Cas, he seeks more of it.

They bask in each other. Tomorrow’s a big day, but this, this now—it’s just them, no barriers, and it’s _perfect_.


End file.
